


is it me you're looking for?

by Elizabeth Watson-Holmes (edye327)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Jarene, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Angst, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Mollstrade, Overdose, Unilock, but harry not sherlock, johnlock au, johnlock ust, singing au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-19 09:43:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 28,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2383694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edye327/pseuds/Elizabeth%20Watson-Holmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes has a massive embarrassing crush on John Watson, who sings in the same men's chorus as him at uni. John Watson has a massive embarrassing crush on Sherlock Holmes, except he's also definitely not gay. A friendship blossoms when they're assigned a duet, and everything is peachy until they can no longer deny that it was never just friendship. But neither Sherlock nor John are known for being particularly smooth when it comes to relationships, and with the pressure of an impending chorus concert (and threatened budget cuts, and Mary Morstan, and feelings), figuring out this whole angst- and fluff-ridden mess isn't going to be easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. closely guarded secrets

**Author's Note:**

> I can see it in your eyes  
> I can see it in your smile  
> You're all I've ever wanted  
> And my arms are open wide  
> -"Hello" by Lionel Richie
> 
> So I was sick and listening to Glee duets and this just... happened.
> 
> Chapters shoot for 900-1.5k words, and tags may change. Feel free to spam with comments and remind me to update, because I'm currently working on about ten different fanfics at once.
> 
> Thank you so much to all my followers/fans/readers, I love and appreciate each and every one of you to death.
> 
> ETA (2017): I've changed the rating from T to G and am going to edit some of the language to be a little more innocuous. I started this 3 years ago and there's a lot to get through!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘So,’ said John, turning to Greg and Mike, who were both grinning madly, ‘cat’s out of the bag now.’
> 
>  ‘John Watson,’ Greg said loudly, ‘you are so gay for Sherlock Holmes.’
> 
>  And even John, who could be extremely persuasive sometimes, he really could, did not have it in him to argue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry I've been so inactive, school and work is crazy. But I'm home sick today and this means time to write fanfic and I promise I'll update my other fics soon!
> 
> This will be pretty short (ha famous last words) but please please please leave kudos and comment if you want me to continue with it!
> 
> Disclaimer: there isn't a lot of MorMor despite the tags, but there will be sprinkles of mentions of it. And possibly Mollstrade because I am a sucker for that. I'd like Irene to make a cameo. I'll update the tags as I post new chapters.

Sherlock Holmes had a closely guarded secret.

Had a lot of closely guarded secrets, for that matter.

This one in particular, however, was especially secretive, and especially inconvenient.

So he did what any normal person would do - well, when he said normal.

He continued to collect odd body parts from the science lab and med school (Molly Hooper, poor thing, had passed over the keys the second he smiled and winked at her), and he sang in the men’s chorus, and he pretended not to stalk John Watson.

Because that would mean spilling his secret, and Sherlock would do anything to prevent _that._

+

John Watson had a closely guarded secret. And no, it wasn’t about Harry, because if he was being honest, everyone knew about Harry.

His secret was silly and embarrassing and actually rather serious when he thought about it, which he tried not to do because all that came of that was a bunch of existential shite and he didn’t want to deal with questioning anything about himself, thankyouverymuch.

So he did what any normal person would do.

He drove to Harry’s house at all hours of the night, and he kept up with his internship and got relatively good grades given the amount of time spent getting into a plethora of stupid situations with Greg Lestrade and Mike Stamford, and he sang in the men’s chorus, and he pretended not to stalk Sherlock Holmes.

Because that would be _bad,_ like really bad, and John Watson _was not gay._

+

Then came the day where solos and duets were assigned and everything was great because as per use Anderson didn’t even get one and was told to stand in the back and mouth ‘watermelon’ the entire performance. Greg and Mike were really only there because John made them come along and suffer and also chorus was an excellent cover up for the whole Sherlock business.

Sebastian Moran and Jim Moriarty got solos, of course, thus perpetuating their competition, which seemed more often than not to involve a whole lot of flirting. John wasn’t expecting much as his voice was only a little bit upwards of mediocre, and he'd never found a suitable partner in all of his singing career - and 'career' was taking it a bit far. In all of his choir memberships, because he was a chronic shower singer and this drove his family/roommates all crazy, was more like it.

Except then his name was called for a duet and then Sherlock’s name was called and John got very, very confused and excited and confused all over again.

'Hello, John,' said Sherlock, and John nearly stopped breathing.

'Sherlock,' he choked out.

They received their assignment, which was 'Hello' by Lionel Richie, though at that moment John could not have cared less. Honestly, who gave Sherlock the right to have that voice and that hair and that body (ohgodthatbody) and that face and those cheekbones? 

'...221B Baker Street,' Sherlock was saying, fixing up his scarf. He winked and John died for a minute. 'We can rehearse there.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ John heard himself say. ‘I’ll see you there.’

He looked up and Greg was mouthing something and gesturing at Sherlock and pointing at a watchless wrist. It took him a moment to realise,

‘You haven’t told me what time yet.’

‘Meet at Angelo’s at six o’clock. We can practise afterwards.’

‘Angelo’s. Right. Six. Okay. Sounds... er, sounds good.’ John cleared his throat.

Sherlock nodded and winked again and was suddenly gone.

‘So,’ said John, turning to Greg and Mike, who were both grinning madly, ‘cat’s out of the bag now.’

‘John Watson,’ Greg said loudly, ‘you are _so_ gay for Sherlock Holmes.’

And even John, who could be extremely persuasive sometimes, he really could, did not have it in him to argue.

+

‘Smile and wink, smile and wink, people seem to like that,’ Sherlock muttered as he hurried away. ‘Idiot.’

John, beautiful stupid John Watson, had looked him in the eye and said his name and how on _earth_ had Sherlock even managed to remain even slightly sane?

Stranger things had happened. Like mysteriously missing cadavers and - ah. Speaking of which.

Sally Donovan, who managed the lab, was striding purposefully towards him, dragging a stuttering Molly behind her (who, no doubt, had broken down immediately under the terrifying gaze of Donovan and fessed up, but he still appreciated her efforts), and declared his access to corpses and everything else necessary for research - ‘Even toenails?’ he asked somewhat forlornly. ‘ _Yes,_ even toenails,’ she spat back, ‘in fact, fingernails too,’ and Sherlock was very sad - _PROHIBITED_ in all caps and for the moment that served as an adequate distraction. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please do leave kudos/comments if you want me to continue :)


	2. walk that mile until the end starts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock was most likely dreaming. There was no other explanation for the fact that John was sitting across from him in the middle of his flat like he’d belonged in that chair his entire life.
> 
> ‘So have you listened to the song?’
> 
> John was very, very good looking. Like, really aesthetically pleasing, if Sherlock said so himself. And his eyes crinkled at the corner when he smiled, and when he giggled it was like everything Sherlock hadn’t known he’d wanted (needed).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for those of you who are reading, commenting, and leaving kudos! Here's the next chapter, then.
> 
> Updated as of December 13, 2014 as I decided to include songs in each of my chapters.
> 
> ETA: As of August 2, 2017, I've gotten lazy and stopped using songs in my most recent updates for the time being.

‘You need to calm down,’ said Greg, ruffling through a rugby magazine absentmindedly before binning it and turning to face John. ‘Your hair is _fine._ ’

John glowered. ‘You don’t know that.’

‘Uh, yeah, I’m looking right at it.’

‘You’re not _Sherlock_.’

Greg rolled his eyes. ‘Thank the lord.’

‘It’s just that I’ve been... I’ve sort of fancied him for awhile, and I’m not _out_ of the closet and I never was, but -’

‘Mate, I hate to break it to you but the closet vaporised the second you looked at Sherlock,’ Greg stated matter-of-factly. ‘But if you’re saying you don’t want me and Mike to out you, then you’ve got our word.’

John did not deign to respond.

+

_i have the night off from work. let’s have dinner._

Can’t. I’m practising. SH

_dinner will be so much more fun than holing yourself up in 221b! i’ll even let you talk about john. do tell me, what colour are his eyes again? oh, right. ‘beautiful’._

Ha-ha. Very amusing. SH

_tyvm. now come on, grab smth to cover your willy with and we’ll go to a pub!!_

I’m not naked, Irene. SH

_you’re in a sheet. i guarantee it._

That is actually not the case. SH

_pics or it didn’t happen._

-image attachment-

_holy shit wtf are you wearing????!!_

Nice clothes. SH

Do I look like I’m trying too hard? SH

I’d hate to appear desperate. SH

_what_

-image attachment-

Does my hair look alright? SH

I’ve put product in it. SH

_SHERL_

Don’t call me that. SH

_WILLIAM_

Or that. SH

_do you have a date??!?!?!!!?!??!_

Ah. I don’t know. SH

_well, tell me you’re not off to see a corpse dressed like that._

Unfortunately, my access to cadavers has been suspended. SH

_donovan?_

And Molly. SH

_so who’s the lucky man???_

It’s not exactly a date. SH

We have been paired together for a duet and are meeting for dinner before practising. SH

_who is he?_

_do i know him????_

_will he ever live up to the bar that e’er-unattainable john watson has set???_

I should hope he endeavours to. SH

_you can’t put those kinds of expectations on a bloke!!!_

_does he fancy you???_

I don’t have time for this Q&A interrogation nonsense. SH

_fine. you have to tell me how it goes._

_guess it’s another night of sexting for me then._

If it helps console you any, I’ve acquired Janine’s number for you. SH

_YOU DID?!_

_i mean, it’s whatever._

_so do you have it now, or...?_

-contact attachment-

You’re very welcome. Now I really must finish shaving before John arrives at Angelo’s before me. I’ve a matter to discuss with Angelo regarding this evening’s accommodations. SH

_his name is john too??? yikes._

His name is indeed John. SH

_what’s his last name? i better background check him on FB._

Watson. Goodbye. SH

_WHAT_

_COME AGAIN_

_SHERLOCK HOLMES_

_WHAT THE BLOODY HELL_

_SHERLOCK_

_YOU TALK TO ME RIGHT NOW OR ELSE_

_fine. thx for the number._

_i don’t fancy her, you know._

_I DON’T_

_maybe a little._

_THIS CONVERSATION IS NOT OVER_

+

_hi John! it’s Molly Hooper. I have a question, if you have a moment._

Yeah, what’s up

_you don’t happen to have Greg’s number, do you?_

_of course you do, what am I saying? you’re best friends, that’s why I’m asking you...I’m sorry. I’m a little flustered._

Hang on

-contact attachment-

Hold it - you don’t fancy him, do you??

_why? does he fancy me?_

Answer me first

_no!_

No you won’t answer my question or no you don’t fancy him?

_I don’t know!_

Ok

Sry, I’m getting ready for a date

Not a date. It’s not a date. I’m not gay, btw

_I never said you were..._

Right. Knew that

U shuld know tht Gregs amazign

Hes proper fit & the birds love hi

M

Hes super cool

_er..._

He lieks U

_is this still John?_

Yah

Molly, sorry. Greg took my phone. Listen, I’ve got to run. Text Greg, he’s getting all fidgety now. Try to teach him patience while you’re at it. Don’t let him drink whiskey and make sure you talk to Mike before letting him near a telly if he’s smashed. Ta!

+

Dinner was honestly a little weird. John forgot how to breathe on several occasions, and Sherlock kept giving subtle, perplexing cues to their waiter, and food magically appeared on their table as well as candles. Loads of candles.

‘I can pay -’ he started when they’d finished (or at least he had; Sherlock didn’t touch a bite, seeming to prefer staring intently at John and twiddling his thumbs nervously).

‘Rubbish. Angelo will take care of it. Come on.’

‘Angelo?’ John looked round at their waiter, confused. ‘Hold on, d’you know him -’

 _‘Now_ , John. Time waits for no man.’

‘It’s a practise -’

Then Sherlock’s hand was flattened against the small of John’s back as he urged him through the door and it was all John could do to not 1. trip and land on his face or 2. grab Sherlock’s hand and move it until it was touching a hell of a lot more than it was at present.

‘Fine, you don’t need to be pushy,’ John managed.

Sherlock shot him a devastating smile.

+

Sherlock was most likely dreaming. There was no other explanation for the fact that John was sitting across from him in the middle of his flat like he’d belonged in that chair his entire life.

‘So have you listened to the song?’

John was very, very good looking. Like, _really_ aesthetically pleasing, if Sherlock said so himself. And his eyes crinkled at the corner when he smiled, and when he giggled it was like everything Sherlock hadn’t known he’d wanted (needed).

‘Sherlock?’

And the way his name sounded, the way John’s mouth rounded around the syllables - and John’s mouth in general - oh. John was talking to him.

‘Have you looked over the lyrics? I’ve never heard this as a duet, but I could definitely see it working. I thought of some harmonies the other day -’

‘Here.’ Sherlock tossed a page of sheet music and lyrics at John, then perched his chin on his hands and thought for a minute. John, to his credit, did not seem at all fazed, instead looking about the flat with a kind of quiet confidence that made Sherlock want very badly to please him.

‘I like your skull.’

Sherlock nodded slowly, playing over the notes of the song in his head. Finally inspired, he leapt to his feet and strode over to his piano. He preferred the violin, of course, but the piano was more practical for rehearsal purposes.

After playing a few chords, he mustered up the courage to look at John and felt his heart lurch to the side. _John._

‘Take my lead if you can,’ he said quickly, then ducked his head because good lord he needed to pull himself together.

‘Will do.’ John worried the corner of his lip with his tongue, an anxious and very distracting habit.

Sherlock took a deep breath and started singing.

+

_You've been on my mind_

_I grow fonder every day,_

**_Lose myself in time_ **

**_Just thinking of your face_ **

**_You're the only one that I want_ **

**_I dare you to let me be your, your one and only_ **

**_Promise I'm worthy to hold in your arms_ **

**_So come on and give me the chance_ **

**_To prove that I'm the one who can_ **

_Walk that mile until the end starts_

\-- ‘One and Only’ by Adele

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! As usual, do comment and leave kudos if you want more :)


	3. like you're the world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘He looks at you like you’re the world, yeah? Like you’re just every bloody thing that matters to him.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for kudos and comments!

‘Greg!’

Greg froze. ‘Shit.’

‘Is that John?’ asked Molly.

‘Oh god, put a shirt on, here,’ he tossed one to her, ‘and act natural.’

‘I -’

John flicked the light switch. ‘Greg, I have to tell you about...’ His voice trailed off as he took inventory of the situation and, eyes widening, slowly backed away. ‘You know what? On second thought, I think I’ll just give you two some alone time. Molly,’ he nodded at her, ‘I guess you texted Greg.’ And promptly fled.

Molly turned to Greg in confusion. ‘What did he want to tell you about?’

‘He’s in love with Sherlock, blah blah blah.’ Greg rolled his eyes.

‘Oh. That makes... quite a lot of sense, actually.’ She looked at him shyly. ‘So did you want to keep...?’

Grinning, Greg kissed her.

+

‘How was it?’ asked Irene.

Sherlock made a noncommittal noise.

‘Did it go well?’ She crossed bare legs and adjusted her lacy push-up bra. Which, to tell the truth, was actually remarkably modest apparel, as she and Sherlock had hung out many a time in which she was stark naked.

‘He’s... flawless,’ Sherlock muttered. ‘It’s very distracting.’

‘Oh, love.’

‘I don’t need your sympathy,’ he snapped. ‘This thing is larger and far more destructive than I would have suspected.’

‘Just to clarify, by “this thing” you mean being infatuated with John?’

Sherlock frowned at the floor.

‘Sherlock,’ she said, leaning forward and placing a hand on his knee, ‘this is normal. This is good, actually. It’s about time, and all that.’

‘Good? This is a travesty. Sentiment? Mycroft will be appalled.’

Irene blanched slightly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, for god’s sake.’

‘He contacted me! Said he needed a favour.’

‘So naturally you interpreted that to mean detailing my entire range of emotions in the past week, including and focusing particularly on my feelings for John.’

Irene grimaced. ‘Little bit.’

Sherlock heaved a long-suffering sigh. ‘I presume he plans to make a visit.’

Another grimace.

‘In approximately three minutes.’

Irene did a marvellous impression of apologetic.

‘Him and that ridiculous umbrella,’ Sherlock grumbled.

‘He said he’d drop by, but I doubt he would leave work to come over here midday,’ Irene said.

Sherlock gave a derisive scoff. ‘Please.’

There was a knock at the door.

+

‘Oi!!’ John turned around and waited patiently for Mike to catch up to him. ‘Did you hear about Molly and Greg?’ Mike asked, panting. 

‘Yeah, I walked in on them, actually. Not an experience I’m all too keen on repeating.’

Mike fell into place next to John. ‘So did Greg talk your ear off about how brilliant she is? ‘Cause he talked mine off, and I nearly puked.’

‘Sorry to hear that,’ John said absently.

Mike prattled on. ‘I’m telling you, all I wanted was a bowl of cereal and some bangers and mash and some biscuits and a cuppa for breakfast, which really isn’t that much to ask, and he comes strutting in and starts acting all lovestruck, and saying how “it wasn’t just sex”’ - this said in a high-pitched voice that didn’t resemble Greg even slightly - ‘that sort of bollocks. Then again, I reckon I’m the only one in the flat who isn’t spouting out that bullshit. So go on then.’ He nudged John. ‘How did the date go?’

‘Fine,’ John said shortly.

‘Hey.’ Mike stopped and looked at John. ‘What’s got you all worked up?’

John shook his head and avoided eye contact. ‘Nothing. I’m not worked up.’

‘Yeah, you are. What happened?’

‘Nothing, only that I... I don’t think he feels the same way, half the time he was jumpy and wouldn’t really talk to me, and at the end of the night he barely said a word. I mean, we don’t really know a thing about each other, so I guess it stands to reason, but I can’t shake off the feeling that he just really doesn’t want me.’

Mike gaped at him. ‘You’re mental,’ he said pragmatically, after a beat in which he appeared to be questioning John’s seriousness in making such a statement, and then attempting to formulate an appropriate response. ‘You are mental.’

‘I’m not! If you’d been there...’

‘I would’ve been able to cut through the unresolved sexual tension - hell, the romantic tension, and I’m not one to go about waxing poetic about romance - with a knife. Everyone knows, everyone sees the way he looks at you, except you.’

It was too much to hope. John shook his head adamantly. ‘He doesn’t look at me any special way,’ he said flatly.

‘You’re mental,’ Mike repeated. ‘Ask Greg, ask Molly - screw it, ask anyone in the chorus. We’ve known about Sherlock’s crush on you from the very first day. Only thing we weren’t sure about was how you felt. If it was reciprocated.’

‘He doesn’t feel that way.’

‘You are a bloody idiot. Look.’ Mike stood stoutly in front of John. ‘He looks at you like you’re something precious. Like you’re... shit, I don’t know how to phrase this, I’m not a girl. Uh.’ He wracked his brains, then started again. ‘He looks at you like you’re the world, yeah? Like you’re just every bloody thing that matters to him. And I’m no sentimentalist, so if I’m saying these things sober, you know I mean them. Sherlock is totally -'

John couldn’t take it anymore. ‘Shut up, Mike,’ he snarled, and stormed off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment/leave kudos letting me know what you think!
> 
> Also, if you have a ship (obviously not John/Sherlock with anyone else, and it looks like Molly and Greg are taken) that you want me to integrate, let me know.


	4. he's not all bad like his reputation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘He’s crazy. Sure, he’s got academic and intellectual potential, but emotionally? Emotionally he’s volatile. Unsafe. Ask anyone who’s ever interacted with or been used by him and they'll tell you, he's got an awful reputation for a reason. If you want to do yourself a favour, you'll stop before this goes any further.'
> 
> It couldn't be. It wasn't. Sherlock wasn't like that.
> 
>  
> 
> Sally fixed him with a steely gaze. ‘I’m just warning you. Stay away from Sherlock Holmes.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry updates have been so slow! I'm swamped but I just turned in my first college applications, so I decided I would write a bit to celebrate. Plus, I love this song and it always makes me think of Johnlock.
> 
> Please leave kudos and comment to let me know what you think!

‘Sod off,’ said Sherlock succinctly.

Mycroft scratched his head idly.

‘This isn’t your affair.’

Mycroft’s umbrella had quite the attitude for being an inanimate object.

‘And I’m not.’

Mycroft waited.

‘I don’t have feelings for him. I really don’t.’

Mycroft gave a bored sigh. ‘Oh, Sherlock.’

Sherlock glared.

Mycroft smirked, then enunciated, 'John Watson.’

Sherlock clenched his jaw against the instinctual smile that seemed to result from hearing John’s name.

Of course, this effect did not go unnoticed. ‘Ah,’ Mycroft said somewhat triumphantly. ‘You truly are besotted.’

Sherlock glared again.

‘Tea?’ Mycroft said blandly.

Sherlock made a face and got up to fill the kettle.

+

‘John, is it?’ Dr. Donovan was looking appraisingly at him.

John froze, biscuit halfway to his mouth. ‘Yes?’ he said rather gormlessly.

She gave him an odd look.

He swallowed and cleared his throat. ‘Sorry, what?’

‘You’re in my class next semester, yeah?’

John racked his brains. Sounded... plausible. ‘Yeah,’ he replied.

Dr. Donovan nodded slowly, thoughtfully.

‘I’m sorry, was there something you wanted to...?’

‘Be careful with Sherlock Holmes,’ she said abruptly.

_What?_

She rolled her eyes. ‘Professors notice things too. Most of us don’t say anything, but it’s not as if we’re blind as bats when it comes to the turbulent social drama of our students. And I’m telling you - warning you - to steer clear of Sherlock.’

Flummoxed, John could only manage, ‘What? Why?’

‘He’s a very brilliant young man, I’ll give him that. And he is ridiculously charismatic when he puts his mind to it. But from a social stance, I’ve watched him ruin people time and again. He uses them, he insults them... put bluntly, he’s a freak. A sociopath, really.’

‘Those are strong words,’ John said hotly. ‘And I don’t think you know -’

Sally laughed bitterly. ‘Know him? I’ve known him since his brother attended school here. Suddenly started popping up everywhere, trying to make off with cadavers and hazardous substances and saying the most outrageous things. He snuck in pretending to be visiting Mycroft, yeah? But after awhile, the charade got so pointless that he stopped bothering to lie and turned it into a constant game. He’d pick every lock and break every door I stuck in his way. None of us even knew what a kid like that could possibly want with human eyeballs, but it was Sherlock. Better not to ask.’

John rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, struggling to produce a coherent response. ‘Um... that’s intense, but -’

‘He’s crazy. Sure, he’s got academic and intellectual potential, but emotionally? Emotionally he’s volatile. Unsafe. Ask anyone who’s ever interacted with or been used by him and they'll tell you, he's got an awful reputation for a reason. If you want to do yourself a favour, you'll stop before this goes any further.'

It couldn't be. It wasn't. Sherlock wasn't like that. ‘Don’t you dare -’

Sally fixed him with a steely gaze. ‘I’m just warning you. Stay away from Sherlock Holmes.’

+

‘How did the duet go?’ Greg asked from where he was sprawled across the sofa, flipping through channels on the telly.

John grunted in reply.

‘Come off it.’ Greg kicked his legs round onto the floor. ‘What happened?’

‘Nothing. Which is precisely the point, really.’ 

‘You didn’t expect the two of you to start, you know...' He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. John had had a stern talk with him the other night about being at least slightly less crass, to which Greg retorted that they were men in their twenties; crass was what it was all about. In return, John had said something to the effect of "yes, but we can still be men in our twenties with dignity" and since then had been mocked ruthlessly by his friends. 'On your first date, did you?’

John scowled. ‘There was a metre radius between us the entire time.’

Greg winced. ‘That’s rough.’

‘You’re telling me.’ John stared glumly at his hands, then looked up. ‘Congrats on Molly.’

Greg beamed. ‘Yeah, she’s really something.’

John sighed. ‘Yeah.’

They sat in relatively companionable silence for the next hour, Greg moving once when he got up to grab a jumbo pack of crisps and again when he thought he heard Molly’s voice outside their door.

‘What are you even doing?’ Greg asked irritably of John, throwing himself at the sofa.

John raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re grumpy,’ he commented.

‘Am not.’

‘Are too. If you want to see her so badly, ring her.’

‘Jo-ohn...’

John visibly turned up the volume on whatever he was listening to.

Greg drummed his fingers aimlessly on the armrest for a second, then moved to peer over John's shoulder. _'Taylor Swift?'_

John yanked out his earphones, cheeks flushing scarlet. ‘No,' he said hastily.

Greg was grinning. 'Wasn't a question,' he said, then let out a low whistle. 'Mate, I knew you were gay, I just didn't reckon you were that -'

'Shut. Up. Shut up, you twat.'

Greg dodged the remote that John hurled at his head, and, still snickering, said good-naturedly, 'Oh, calm down. What's the song, then?'

‘No,' John repeated, then muttered something. 

Greg tried valiantly to keep a straight face. 'Come again?'

'I said it has good lyrics,' John snapped.

‘What song is -’

John jumped off the couch and scampered halfway across the room. ‘No,’ he said a third time, very sternly. ‘This conversation is over. Forever. Do we have orange juice?’

Greg explained that the OJ was possibly very mouldy at this point in time and read the title of the song when John left his phone on the counter to use the loo.

+

Being banned from the laboratories was dull. And boring, and tedious, and deplorable.

Sherlock’s phone went off just as he’d decided that Molly and Donovan could go to rot because he was going to get those arm hairs and really all he had to do was ring Mycroft and ask for the other set of lockpicks that he left last Christmas.

But it was John, so he completely forgot what he’d been thinking about, or if he had in fact ever thought about anything other than John and John’s voice and his presence, so warm and sunny and _John._

‘Hello?’ John asked.

Sherlock cleared his throat. ‘Sorry. Bad connection. How are you?’

‘Just fine.’

Words. Words. Sherlock opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Thankfully, John ventured,

‘I was only wondering if maybe you wanted to... hang out. With me.’ 

What did that even mean? Of course there was nothing he didn’t want to do with John, but if ‘hanging out’ was something that involved complex social skills, he was woefully ill-equipped. ‘When?’

‘Are you around today?’

‘Yes,’ he answered, a bit too quickly. It wouldn’t do to sound overeager. Mentally scolding himself (he really did hope he was doing this correctly, if he’d been smart about it he would’ve prepared himself for this scenario, Irene would gladly help with that even though he’d turned it down when she suggested role-playing-not-the-sexual-kind), Sherlock added, ‘Are you?’ and oh _god_ he was in for it. 

For the question being quite possibly the stupidest thing he’d ever said, John was remarkably unfazed. ‘Er... yeah, I am, that’s why I’m asking you.’ He laughed and it was beautiful. ‘We could meet for coffee later.’

‘Coffee! Yes. Please. Let’s.’ _Calm down._ ‘If you...’ _Play hard to get._ Sherlock coughed. ‘I’ll have to check, you know. But. That sounds enjoyable.’

‘Right. Text me when you know if you’re free?’

‘Of course.’

‘Ta.’

+

‘Oi, Mike, get over here.’

Mike shuffled over. ‘What’s that?’ He squinted at the screen.

‘Lyrics. John was listening to - wait for it - _Taylor Swift_. Earlier today.’

‘He _what?_ ’ Mike’s face lit up. ‘Oh, I am so -’

‘Hang on, you can give him hell for it later. He said the song had good lyrics, but he wouldn’t talk about it, so I Googled and...” Greg gestured at his laptop. 

‘Blimey,’ murmured Mike. ‘That’s... he does know they’re not dating, right?’

Greg smirked, then sobered, bordering on concerned. 'You know he’s turned a blind eye to Sherlock’s reputation.’ He paused. ‘I hope he’s different with John. I don't... I sound like a girl. But he's my best mate, and Sherlock is...’

‘A dick,' Mike provided. 'Yeah, but I dunno... if you saw the way they’ve looked at each other from day one. When they thought the other one couldn’t see. Shit, I don’t know why I’m even talking about this.’

‘It’s relevant,' Greg said quickly, 'they’re our friends. Well, John is, anyway. And he's pretty damn infatuated with Sherlock Holmes.'

Mike shook his head. ‘Poor bloke.’

‘Which one?’

‘Both.’

They looked at each other and started laughing hysterically.

+

**_Tall, dark and beautiful_ **

_He's_ **_complicated_ ** _, he's_ **_irrational_ **

_But I hope someday you'll take me away and save the day_

_Something in his deep green eyes has me sayin'_

**_He's not all bad like his reputation_ **

**_And I can't hear one single word they say_ **

_He's got_ **_his mother's eyes, his father's ambition_ **

_I wonder if he knows how much that I miss him_

_I hang on every word you say_

_You'll smile and say_ **_"How are you?"_ **

_And I'll say,_ **_"Just fine."_ **

**_I always forget to tell you I love you_ **

**_I'll love you forever..._ **

\--‘Superman’ by Taylor Swift

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Make sure to follow me on tumblr @lostinsherlock, and any and all comments/kudos are appreciated.
> 
> I like incorporating song lyrics into chapters, actually, and I think I might just keep on doing that.


	5. the paths that your eyes wander down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘We talked. He’s brilliant. He went out of his way to tell me that he doesn’t give two shits about what people say, and I suspect that he was sincere. He’s astonishingly, simply marvellous.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in two days, oh my! I've gotten very invested in this story.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated x

‘I’ve come here since I was ten,’ John said, looking around the old coffee shop with a slightly nostalgic smile. ‘My mum would take me out for a special treat. She’d shop and I’d always get hot cocoa before we had to drive home.’ He paused. ‘After the first time Harry got in trouble, I drove all the way here at midnight and stayed til morning.’

Sherlock didn’t quite know what to say, so he nodded in what he hoped was a sympathetic manner. ‘It’s nice,’ he said.

‘Mm.’ John flashed him a grin. ‘I can’t believe you’ve never been here! You said your gran lived right down the road?’

How did Sherlock explain that, contrary to the clearly misguided assumptions on John's part, he was the antithesis of 'social'? That he talked to corpses and skulls and had no idea how to carry a conversation that wasn’t about murder or theft? That, had he been able to, he would most likely still be as inept when it came to John - John, who looked at him with such earnestness, such warmth, such kindness as if he _knew_ that Sherlock meant well even as he made a mess of everything. As if he knew who Sherlock was, or at least was beginning to.

It was odd (at least based on his very limited knowledge) that he should fall so hard, so fast, for a complete stranger. It verged on ridiculous. However, Sherlock was known for being ridiculous, so it only stood to reason that he'd jump straight to the "obsessed" bit before the "getting to know you" one. As Irene told him, the worst thing he could do to himself now was to start psychoanalyzing himself into circles, so he quickly tuned back into the present.

‘D’you want to order?’ John asked cheerfully when Sherlock didn’t respond, which only made Sherlock melt a little more. No-one had treated him as such before, like they understood that his brain sometimes didn’t function in a way that was socially “normal,” that maybe was a bit not good, and that, most importantly, was still _okay._

Sherlock shook himself back to reality. ‘Black coffee, two sugars.’

‘I’ll have a tea, thanks,’ said John, and reached for his wallet.

The card was halfway across the counter when Sherlock managed to gather his wits together and interrupt, ‘It’s on me.’ That _was_ the proper phrase. He’d double-checked with Irene on that one.

John looked delighted, and Sherlock felt smug, as if he’d passed some sort of test. ‘It’s fine,’ John said, nodding at the barista, who moved to slide it.

‘No, I quite insist.’ Sherlock snatched the card away, holding it behind his back and fishing around for a few notes with the other hand.

‘Oi, give that back,’ John said, laughing, but Sherlock spun out of the way when John attempted to lunge at him and retrieve the card.

‘Keep the change,’ Sherlock told the cashier (who looked mildly annoyed at the inappropriate conduct) and strode over to the pickup counter.

‘Give it back!’ John said, giggling and chasing Sherlock in circles. Sherlock, taking advantage of his height, held the card above his head. John swatted him playfully. ‘Now, that’s just cruel.’

‘You brought this upon yourself,’ Sherlock said, heart pounding as he looked at John, who was slightly out of breath and beaming up at him. ‘You must to promise never to try to pay for anything, ever again.’

‘So you’ll pay for my groceries, then.’

Sherlock paused. For John? He would, although the way John was smirking made it possible that the statement had been sarcastic. ‘As you wish,’ he said.

Something subtle happened to John’s face, something softened, something lit up just a bit more, and he smiled. ‘I wasn’t serious, you know.’

Ah. ‘Of course. If you ever need anything, though.’ Sherlock waved his hand vaguely.

‘Thanks,’ John said quietly, then, ‘Oh, here’s yours.’ Their fingers brushed as he passed the coffee to Sherlock.

‘Thank you.’

‘D’you want to sit down outside?’

Sherlock nodded to indicate that John should take the lead.

‘So, have you thought about the duet? I thought we sounded good, but the harmonies could be played around with a bit. James said he would help me, if you weren’t around.’

‘James Sholto?’ Sherlock bristled. ‘Why were you speaking to him?’

‘He’s an old friend,’ John explained dismissively. ‘We were best mates in primary school.’

‘Well, I am very much around, so that won’t be necessary.’

‘Yeah, okay.’ John peered at him curiously. ‘He just meant, like, with breathing and stuff. I’m not a professional singer by any means and -’

‘No,’ said Sherlock definitively. ‘You’ll rehearse with me. No-one else.’ And that was that.

+

‘Okay, calm down, count to ten, I’ll be right over.’ Irene hung up and turned to Janine. ‘I’m so sorry, but Sherlock’s having some sort of breakdown and I have to -’

‘Irene, it’s fine.’ Janine smiled, then reached out and hugged Irene warmly. ‘Thanks for hanging out.’

‘Anytime,’ said Irene, pulling away and kissing Janine on the cheek. ‘Bye.’

‘See ya.’

Janine smiled fondly as Irene set off at a brisk pace. She would win her over, someday.

+

‘I acted like a stroppy toddler,’ said Sherlock, nearly tearing his hair out.

‘Stop freaking out. Everything is fine.’ Irene tried to suppress a smile. This wasn't amusing.

‘No! No, it’s not, John must hate me. Listen - no, listen! - here we are, only _just_ friends, and I’m already displaying jealous and possessive tendencies.’

‘I -’

‘It’s his fault, you know.’ Sherlock stopped his pacing and threw himself into the armchair. ‘If he wasn’t so _John_ , then I might have a chance.’ He paused. ‘You know I have a negative reputation.’

‘So? I do too.’

‘Then I’m sure you understand when I say that John’s disregard for my supposed sociopathic habits and lack of consideration is incredibly... is incredible.’

Irene looked at him for a moment, then sighed and took his hands in hers. ‘You’re quite besotted, you know,’ she said.

Sherlock flinched and moved to retreat, but she squeezed his hand emphatically.

‘It’s alright! All I’m saying is, when you’re in - when you fancy someone the way you fancy John, you magnify things in your head. You’re hyper aware of everything each of you says and does, to a fault. I’m sure he wasn’t offended,’ she said gently. ‘Most likely taken aback and very flattered.’

Sherlock groaned and sank down in his chair.

‘So how was the rest of the date?’

‘Amazing. It wasn’t a date,’ he added quickly.

Irene scoffed. ‘Don’t even.’

‘We talked. He’s brilliant. He went out of his way to tell me that he doesn’t give two shits about what people say, and I suspect that he was sincere. He’s astonishingly, simply marvellous.’

‘What did you talk about?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I don’t...’ Sherlock frowned. ‘We just _talked._ It wasn’t dull.’

Irene sighed and patted his knee. 'I'm happy for you.'

'And I you.'

'What?'

'Janine,' said Sherlock, 'obviously. Have you been successful yet in your sexual endeavours with -'

'Right, I'm out,' said Irene, and bolted.

+

 _I think that possibly, maybe_ **_I'm falling for you_ **

_Yes there's a chance that_ **_I've fallen quite hard over you._ **

**_I've seen the paths that your eyes wander down_ **

_I want to come too_

**_No one understands me quite like you do_ **

_Through all of the shadowy corners of me_

+

John sighed dreamily.

‘How was it?’ Mike asked, sliding in next to him.

‘Great. Great.’ He realised he was beaming like a teenage girl who’d just met Justin Bieber and coughed. ‘It was fine, yeah.’

‘You’re grinning. Fess up. Did you snog, then?’

‘What? No! No, I... we just talked. For three hours straight.’

Mike appeared baffled. ‘How... what is there to _talk_ about for that long? That’s terrible!’

‘You know, just trading stories. I listened to all his experiments and studies and theories and it was absolutely _brilliant_ and _incredible_ and he’s just so bloody _amazing_ and I never wanted to leave.’

Mike cast him a dubious look. ‘Yeah, alright,’ he said, and reached across John to pop a crisp in his mouth. ‘Anything good on telly?’

+

 _I never knew just what it was about_ **_this old coffee shop_ **

_I love so much_

_All of the while I never knew_

_I never knew just what it was about_ **_this old coffee shop_ **

_I love so much_

**_All of the while I never knew_ **

 --'Falling In Love At a Coffee Shop' by Landon Pigg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Let me know if YOU have any Johnlock songs that you want me to incorporate into upcoming chapters! (Just comment with the title and artist and I'll check it out!)
> 
> PS Anyone seen the Princess Bride? If you haven't, search 'as you wish' on Urban Dictionary ;)


	6. butterflies don't lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘No need to come,’ Sherlock cut in, something hot and ugly boiling at the pit of his stomach. ‘We have everything under control.’
> 
> John kicked him and corrected, ‘We would love for you to come.’ He paused. ‘Well, I would love for you to come.’
> 
> James’s smile was just shy of genuine, and his eyes flickered briefly to Sherlock and back to his oblivious friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed I've finally mapped out the next 10 chapters. This may change, but for now, you can expect 16 chapters in total for this fic.

John and Sherlock’s friendship developed quickly and easily in the following weeks. They fit into each other’s lives as seamlessly as, well... Greg and Mike could happily provide a clumsy innuendo or two about things fitting into other things. Double entendres and insinuations aside, it was all good and comfortable and very very brilliant. 

November rolled around and with it came a Belstaff and scarf for Sherlock and hideous oatmeal jumpers for John. Sherlock started coming over to help 'the boys' with homework and, on occasion, to harass Molly about whether or not she had an aching need for those feet you know the ones from the choking victim whose brain bled out because the murderer apparently couldn't stop at asphyxiation. At which point Greg gave her a reassuring pat on the back and told John to make Sherlock behave, then spirited her away into his room, which was Mike's cue to leave and the others' to put something loud on the telly.  

When it was particularly blustery, Sherlock would more often than not be sprawled out across their couch when they got back from errands and classes. 

'It was too cold to walk all the way from mine to choir practise,' he claimed. 

'You do realise you're still going to have to walk outside, the same exact distance as before, to get there,' John said, hanging up his jacket and tapping Sherlock's leg. 'Budge up.'

Sherlock looked at John and said earnestly, 'Yes, but this way I get to walk with _you,'_ as if that made all the difference in the world. And to Sherlock, it did. 

+

Then there was the day that they ran into James. John grinned widely and hugged the alum, leaving Sherlock raging silently.

‘This is Sherlock, I’m not sure if you two’ve met -’

‘Pleasure,’ Sherlock said primly, curling his lip in distaste at the proffered hand. As if.

John faltered, looking confused and then vaguely annoyed. ‘I know you’re not a student here anymore,’ he said, ‘but it would mean the world to me if you could come to the performance. After all, it’s because of you that I’ve -’

‘No need to come,’ Sherlock cut in, something hot and ugly boiling at the pit of his stomach. ‘We have everything under control.’

John kicked him and corrected, ‘We would love for you to come.’ He paused. ‘Well, _I_ would love for you to come.’

James’s smile was just shy of genuine, and his eyes flickered briefly to Sherlock and back to his oblivious friend. ‘I’ll let you know,’ he said, and fled.

+

‘You’re angry with me,’ Sherlock said matter-of-factly.

John didn’t deign to respond. Of _course_ he was bloody angry with Sherlock. He’d not seen James in _ages_ , and rather than being warm and welcoming for once (and they really had been working on the ‘pleasantries’ and ‘not murderous smile’ front), Sherlock had been more hostile than he was towards Anderson.

‘John, please.’

John clenched his jaw. James was his mentor, his inspiration, and, if he was being honest, his first male crush. Moreover, James had been there when shit hit the fan at home, and it was he who suggested John try joining the chorus. And Sherlock was being a total massive _dick_ and John wanted to scream.

‘I apologise.’

John gritted his teeth and sped up.

‘John, no, stop.’ Sherlock reached out and tugged at John’s cuff, the brush of his knuckles against John’s wrist inciting sparks. Unable to resist the infuriating magnetic field that seemed to orbit Sherlock, John spun around.

‘ _What._ ’

‘I was. I was jealous.’

John’s heart sped up. Chewing on his lip, he asked, ‘Why?’

Sherlock’s eyes flickered briefly to where his pinky was still tucked under John’s shirt sleeve, but he didn’t move away. ‘I dislike the thought of James spending excessive time with you.’

‘Are you kidding? I’ve seen him _once_ this year.’

‘He’s texted you thirteen times in the past four days.’

Unbelievable. Only Sherlock could make such a normally disturbing statement and still send butterflies fluttering madly in John’s stomach. ‘You’ve been keeping count?’ He forgot to breathe for a moment, caught up in those goddamn eyes.

Sherlock didn’t say anything, just gave a little nod and shrug.

John looked at him, warmth blooming in his chest, and sighed. ‘It’s fine.’

‘Really?’

‘Just don’t do it again. And for the record, James has nothing on you. So.’ John cleared his throat. ‘How about you help me with anatomy?’

+

There was popcorn and hot chocolate and completely unabashed flirting and Bond films.

‘John,’ Greg called, tossing his wallet on the kitchen counter. ‘Hey, do you have -’ He reached the living room and stopped still.

The telly was still flickering on, but the two idiots on the couch were oblivious. They were slumped against each other, fast asleep. Popcorn had spilled out of the bowl sitting in John’s lap, Sherlock’s hand resting possessively on John’s knee.

‘You’re both so effing _stupid,’_ Greg said, shaking his head, then snapped a photo and sent it to Mike.

+

Between charged looks and smiles that took Sherlock’s breath away, it was all so bloody _inconvenient_.

‘Help,’ he said.

Irene shook her head, not even bothering to respond at this point.

‘Do you think he -’

‘No,’ she said monotonely, having gone through this multiple times already. ‘He doesn’t love James.’

‘Are you -’

‘He’s yours. Just take the chance.’

‘If I tell him the truth...’

‘You could end up with a broken heart, yeah. It’s always like that. But I guarantee John’s different. Let him in.’

Sherlock groaned. Irene didn’t look up from her phone.

+

**_Is there a chance you could be mine_ **

**_If I let you see inside_ **

**_Or do you love somebody else_ **

_Should I keep this to myself_

**_I could risk a broken heart by telling you the truth_ **

_Or I could keep my secret safe and when I see you_

+

‘Just one smile and I’m a goner,’ John complained, stuffing a danish in his mouth.

‘That _is_ how it generally works,’ Greg said. ‘Right, Molls?’ Molly gave a small smile and nodded by the toaster. She was wearing his shirt, bare-legged, and John rolled his eyes.

‘But you’re not supposed to _melt_ like that. One _smile,_ Greg.’ He groaned and buried his face in his hands. ‘It’s so stupid. I’m not ten years old, I’m not... at the end of the day, he’s just some guy.’

‘Mate. Come on.’

‘He is,’ John insisted weakly.

Greg and Molly exchanged amused looks, like they were a bloody married couple dealing with their petulant toddler. Greg pulled up a chair, spinning it around and resting his arms on the back rest. ‘Listen. Sherlock Holmes will never be “just some guy” to you, so you can stop that train of thought right there. And it’s _normal._ That’s how I feel about Molly, you know. It’s not bad. It’s only bad if you deny it, which you are.’

‘I’m not _denying_ anything,’ grumbled John. ‘It’s just... it’s just so stupid.’

‘I agree. We all think you’re both total morons. How hard is it to snog and settle the deal? You’re already cuddling on the couch and showing up at each other’s places unannounced.’

‘Yeah.’ Then, with an anguished cry, ‘I just like him _so_ much.’

Greg threw up his hands in defeat.

+

_You walk by and my heart beats_

_A thousand times at once it seems_

_And every time you look at me_

**_I have to tell myself to breathe_ **

**_With just a smile you capture me, and I start to melt_ **

_Emotions then take over me like I've never felt_

**_I could tell my heart each time_ **

**_It isn't love, you're just some guy_ **

_There's nothing there and what I feel_

_Is in my head, it isn't real_

**_But I can't deny_ ** _, can't even try_

 _Cause I know inside,_ **_butterflies don't lie_ **

\--“Butterflies Don’t Lie” by Kaci Brown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, leave kudos/comments and let me know what songs remind YOU of Johnlock! I've already gotten some very good suggestions. Also, warnings for upcoming angst. They are such idiots.


	7. want to

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘This is really nice,’ John repeated, ten minutes of quiet meandering along the shore later.
> 
> Sherlock smiled and looked at John and he knew that there was love in his eyes. ‘It is,’ he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUN FACT! When I Googled the first thing that John Googles while on the phone with Irene, the second result to pop up was Sherlock-related, which I found hilarious.
> 
> Sorry for the delay! I promise I'll get around to replying to comments (though I read them all the second they are posted). I'm having a rough time right now and fanfic has once more become my salvation. So, expect the next chapter shortly.

‘How was rehearsal?’ asked Greg.

John blushed.

Greg groaned. ‘Why don’t you just snog him and get all of this over with?’

‘If I got a pence every time you said that, I swear to god I’d be a millionaire by now.’ John dropped his backpack on the couch and headed into the kitchen.

Greg followed. ‘And if I got a pence every time you said “we’re just friends and I’m not gay”’ - this in a high-pitched whine that did not resemble John even slightly; what was with his friends and using falsettos to imitate one another? - ‘I’d be right there with you.’

John chucked a dishrag at him.

+

‘Irene. I need to talk to you.’

Irene rolled her eyes and switched her phone to the other shoulder. ‘What is it this time?’

‘I have to speak with you.’ Sherlock paused. ‘It’s urgent.’

‘If I have to bail you out of -’

‘What? No! No. And that was only the one time, when the kidneys were - when it was -’

‘The black market, I know.’

‘It’s not about that.’

‘Is it John?’

Silence.

‘I’m going to murder you in cold blood if you start whinging about how he’s so beautiful and you’re so in love but you can’t, but you aren’t, but maybe, but sometimes you think, but maybe it could, but no you can’t, but perhaps just, but but but he’s just, and you’re just, and you can’t quite do it, but maybe you can -’

‘Fine. I revoke my invitation.’

Irene cocked an eyebrow and grabbed her purse. ‘Ah. I didn’t realise it was an invitation.’

‘Coffee. Now.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Coming.’

+

‘The concert is coming up and I am unsure as to whether or not I am in a position to emotionally... cope.’

Irene frowned. ‘Come again?’

Sherlock gave a dramatic sigh and jumped to his feet, beginning to pace around the coffee table. ‘This is an emotional song. John is...’ He glanced at her. ‘Well, you know.’ A flick of his fingers served to indicate the unspoken adjectives. _Beautiful, flawless, perfect, funny, endearing, attractive, lovely, perfect, flawless, amazing, incredible, phenomenal, perfect._ ‘I am concerned that I may experience stage fright for the first time in my musical and theatrical career.’

‘You nearly vomited in primary school at our production of _Annie._ And you were a butler. A _butler_ , Sherlock. All you had to do - _literally_ all you had to do - was walk out at the right time and join the other butlers and stand there and do nothing.’

He appeared deeply affronted. ‘That was because I was _ill,_ Irene.’

‘Sure,’ she said, smirking.

‘At any rate,’ he said loudly, ‘I find myself quite out of my depth in this situation. I doubt that I will possess the ability to - how do you so artfully put it? - “get my shit together” enough to go onstage with John and not make a fool of myself.’

 

‘How would you make a fool of yourself?’

‘I just would.’ Sherlock flopped into his seat and scowled.

‘Don’t sulk.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Yes you are. You still have, like, a month and a half, you know.’

‘I am afraid that I might kiss him.’

Irene leaned forward, intrigued. ‘Oh? Tell me more.’

Sherlock was turning red, which made this perhaps the best day of her life. ‘I just mean that I - I don’t know how much longer I can keep up this charade -’

‘It’s not a charade and you are _literally_ not fooling anyone, except maybe John, in which case he’s a total idiot. Like you.’

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Leave.’

‘You’re impossible,’ she said affectionately, and ruffled up his hair.

+

In retrospect, their excursion to Leigh-on-Sea was not a good idea. It was John who’d proposed it, and why he’d thought a day out involving a sunset, a beach, windblown curls and flushed cheeks would be at all conducive to his Get Over Sherlock initiative was beyond him.

It was partially Irene’s idea. She was the one who picked up the phone and informed John that Sherlock was throwing a major strop and if he didn’t remove him from the vicinity he would have a hefty price to pay.

‘He’s not my responsibility,’ John argued, even as he opened up his laptop to start searching for potential day trip locations. _safe places near london without chemicals or morgues nearby_ had not yielded promising results (Google really needed to get its shit together, honestly) and he had just as much luck with _vacation spots for platonic friends_ (which actually directed him to several ‘Rent-A-Friend’ websites and was it him or did this seem a bit disturbing).

‘Yes, but you’re his best mate, and I can’t handle more than an hour with him.’ She paused. ‘Plus, I have plans.’

John hit the speaker button and balanced his phone next to the keyboard. ‘With who?’

‘Whom. And it’s none of your business.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Fine. Listen, what about this place in Leigh?’

‘Leigh?’ She sounded dubious.

‘Well, it’s the first place to come up when I searched beaches near London, and it has good reviews,’ he said defensively.

‘No, no, it’s just... a beach? In November?’

‘Maybe the cold air will, I dunno, tame him somehow?’

There was a pregnant pause in which was contained a very, very palpable _are you really that much of an idiot really John_ before she said, ‘It’s up to you. Go for it. Just don’t blame me when this allegedly platonic trip becomes a knot of sexual tension and cold hands.’

‘It won’t.’

It did.

+

Sherlock was not a particularly good kisser. His past paramours (if they could be called that) (and there was pretty much a nonexistent list of ex-lovers in the first place) had been quite clear on the matter. He really didn’t care much at the time because these ventures primarily held research interest for him and as far as criticism went, being a bad kisser was hardly something to be concerned about.

Except the more time he spent with John, the more he thought that one kiss could stop everything from spinning out of control in his mind palace. That it could restore order and the whole world could change, just like that.

But there was always the fact that he had no idea how John felt. And of course he understood enough to know that this was the sort of situation where mutual consent was necessary.

‘It’s chilly,’ John said, pulling Sherlock’s attention back to the present. John was wearing a jumper and jeans, dark wash and noticeably worn, and was currently rubbing his arms vigorously in an attempt to warm up. Sherlock suppressed the urge to hurl himself at the man, to offer his body heat and everything else that John could possibly want and Sherlock could possibly give.

‘We can return to the car, if you would like.’

John peered up at him, earnest and steadfast even as he shivered. ‘No. This is... this is nice.’

And it was. The wind was blowing gently across sand, wet and crunchy beneath their feet, and as they drew nearer to the shoreline the waves took on a sort of hypnotic property. Peace hung over both of them; words were rendered unnecessary.

John’s hair was ruffled, his eyes squinting against the breeze, nose and cheeks pink with cold, and Sherlock had never wanted so much to kiss someone. He looked away and cleared his throat, intending to say something practical and not at all sentimental, but what came out was,

‘John.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Thank you,’ he mumbled, drawing his coat tighter around his shoulders.

‘For what?’

‘For this. For everything.’

‘Oh.’ John looked taken aback, but pleased all the same. ‘You’re welcome.’

Sherlock nodded, then stared out across the horizon. 

‘This is really nice,’ John repeated, ten minutes of quiet meandering along the shore later.

Sherlock smiled and looked at John and he knew that there was love in his eyes. ‘It is,’ he said.

+

**_We could sit on the shore_ **

**_We could just be friends_ **

**_Or we could jump in_**

_The whole world could change in a minute_

**_Just one kiss could stop it spinning_ **

**_We could think it through_ **

**_But I don't want to, if you don't want to_**

_We could keep things just the same_

_Leave here the way we came_

_with nothing to lose_

_But I don't want to, if you don't want to_  

_Yeah we both got dreams_

_we could chase alone_

_or we could make our own_

**_But I want to_ **

**_But I want you_**

 --'Want To' by Sugarland

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you think.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always much appreciated x


	8. skipping beats blushing cheeks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unabashed Jarene interval. This chapter is not integral to the storyline, so feel free to skip it if you so desire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As stated in the summary, this is really just a bridge between the last chapter and the upcoming angst.

Janine had taken the Kinsey scale test in secondary school when people starting coming out. She’d been oddly relieved to discover that she was ‘predominantly heterosexual, but more than incidentally homosexual,’ because while she’d had crushes on girls before, she had only ever been interested in pursuing relationships with men.

Until she met Irene Adler and her whole world turned upside down and she fell in love faster than... well, at least as fast as Sherlock Holmes and that Watson bloke had fallen for each other. Were they dating? She still wasn’t clear on that.

They met at a corner cafe. Irene had unceremoniously spilled hot coffee all over Janine, and began apologising profusely, which was surprise number one, because to be honest Janine was not accustomed to people caring so much.

Surprise number two came when they made eye contact and she realised that this was _the_ Irene Adler. Her mouth suddenly going dry as she thought back to the nudes that Irene had unabashedly allowed to circulate the previous year, Janine felt the urge to flee.

‘Hey,’ said Irene, ‘you okay?’

‘Yeah, fine,’ Janine replied.

‘Here, let me buy you a drink.’

Janine looked up, confused.

Irene rolled her eyes and made an irritated sound. ‘No, not that kind of drink, it’s only half one in the afternoon on a Sunday. I mean a latte, or something.’

‘Oh. Er. Thanks, but I’m -’

Something like hurt flashed across Irene’s features then. ‘I see. You’ve heard of me. The big bad sexter. The Woman.’

It was pointless to lie, so Janine made a wimpy little gesture with her hand.

Irene was nodding slowly, and Janine’s gut wrenched at the hardness in her gaze. ‘Right. Surprised that I was nice enough to stop and help you, when I probably have better things to do, like porn? That was a good rumour, but I suppose you believed it.’

‘No, please, I -’ Janine paused and tried to arrange her thoughts. ‘It’s not that. Not that at all. Yeah, I’ve heard some rumours, but it doesn’t matter. We all make poor decisions - not that yours is poor - I just mean -’ She felt herself spiraling into a cluster of tangled verbs and confused consonants, and got really, really pissed. It sucked sometimes, being this bad at handling social situations. ‘It’s fine. I’m not judging you badly, okay?’

Irene looked at her strangely, a beat too long, and then shook her head vigorously. ‘My bad,’ she said politely. Her shoulders were more relaxed, Janine noted, and the wounded look had passed. ‘You probably have to go.’

Janine could take a hint. Feeling rather poorly that she had managed to botch that entire sequence of events, she stammered an apology and escaped.

But then Irene texted her out of the blue and they began hanging out and they were friends and then one day Janine realised that friendship just wasn’t enough, not for her. Not with Irene. Never with Irene.

+

Janine had confused Irene from day one. Despite this, or because of this, Irene couldn’t stop thinking about her. How her hair fell in such perfect dark waves, and her eyes were so wide and earnest, was beyond Irene’s understanding. Something in her attitude and the way she forged so fearlessly and freely through life hinted at a certain level of inherent self-assurance that few, if any, women her age possessed. It was remarkable, really.

After Sherlock provided her with Janine’s number, Irene spent a solid hour pacing and trying to decide what to do. If she sent that text, she might never be able to let go, and if Janine did not want anything to do with her - a very real possibility after the coffee shop incident - then everything would go to rot.

In the end it was an extremely good idea to have texted her because they had lunch the next day, and after about twenty minutes Irene was a total goner. Janine made her laugh and time flew; Janine was awkward and shy and just so damn cute; Irene’s heart skipped beats and she blushed uncontrollably; the two of them got on so well that it was unreal.

‘What’s going on with the two of you?’ Molly asked one day after watching them part ways.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean... you guys kiss each other on the cheek and stuff. And she looks at you a certain way. A bit... a bit fond.’

Irene shrugged. ‘She’s like that with everyone. It’s platonic.’

‘Hm,’ said Molly, and furrowed her brow.

+

**_Skipping beats, blushing cheeks_ ** _I am struggling_

_Daydreaming, bed scenes in the corner café_

_And then i'm left in bits recovering tectonic tremblings_

_You get me every time_

**_Why d'ya have to be so cute?_ **

_It's impossible to ignore you_

**_Must you make me laugh so much_ **

**_It's bad enough we get along so well_ **

+

‘Goodnight.’

‘Yeah, see you,’ said Irene, and gazed at Janine’s face a moment longer before turning away. ‘’Night.’

‘Goodnight.’

Irene padded down the front walk, then stopped and looked back at Janine’s flat. The lights inside were still on, casting a soft glow about the modest apartment, and as she watched, Janine stood in the middle of the living room for a full minute before shaking herself and disappearing from view. 

Irene waited, fixed to the pavement, until her friend returned, now dressed in a loose crop top and low-slung sweatpants. Janine bent down for a moment, rummaging in her purse, and straightened again, this time with her earphones in. And then she started dancing and she was so dorky and adorable and Irene melted into a pool, never to be seen again.

However (luckily), before she could do something totally foolish, like sprint back into the house and kiss Janine, her phone lit up.

_Stop staring. It’s highly unattractive. SH_

where the hell r u???!? stalker. 

_I have a dilemma. SH_

_Come at once. SH_

no!!! i have a life, u know. whats wrong now? 

_I can’t decide which suit to wear tonight. SH_

another date? 

_No. SH_

_I’m seeing John. SH_

so a date. 

_Whatever. Come over. Please. SH_

rather late for a date, isn’t it? 

_We’re going to the cinema. SH_

Oh for god’s sake. Irene sighed and cast one look back at Janine’s flat, in which she was now flicking through the telly, before texting him back,

gimme 10 min.

+

**_Follow you home, you've got your headphones on and you're dancing_ **

_Got lucky, beautiful shot you taking everything off watch the curtains wide open_

_Then you fall in the same routine_ **_flicking through the TV_ ** _relaxed and reclining_

_And you think you're alone..._

+

Janine hated saying goodnight to Irene.

She hated the view of Irene’s back.

She hated the way the word sounded.

She hated the way Irene had to leave, then, and strode purposefully out of view.

She hated how empty the flat felt afterwards.

One day, she swore, Irene would stay with her - _be_ with her - for real. And it would be _brilliant._

+

_One of these days, you'll miss your train and_ **_come stay with me_ **

_We'll have drinks and talk about things, any excuse to stay awake with you_

**_we'd be good, we'd be great together._ **

_Say goodnight and go, why's it always always goodnight and go_

**_Darling not again, goodnight and go_ **

\--‘Goodnight and Go’ by Imogen Heap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think.


	9. the sound of silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was no doubt about it: their voices went together. Not in the same way that his and Sherlock’s seemed to curl together as if by design, but in a very light-hearted, Glee sort of way. The kind of duet that people would probably want to hear - would expect to hear - at a uni chorus concert. It lacked the depth and intensity, sure, but it would be a crowd pleaser. John knew it, and, by the looks of it, so did Mary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mary gets reassigned to do the duet with John.

December 1 was possibly the worst day of Sherlock’s life. And he had been arrested for black market dealings, so that was really saying something.

‘Hurry up,’ John said, shoving Sherlock along. ‘God, I swear you draw this walk out on purpose. Google Maps says we can do the walk in five minutes.’

_Google Maps isn’t in love with you. Google bloody Maps doesn’t understand wanting to spend as much time as humanly possible with someone because you never know when that time may be truncated._ ‘Perhaps I am not all too eager to attend yet another choir meeting.’

John rolled his eyes. ‘You liked it before.’

‘Yes, but only because I got to see y -’ Sherlock coughed. ‘I never liked it,’ he claimed.

If John heard his slip-up, he didn’t comment, merely sighed dramatically and kicked a rock at the side of a building. It ricocheted off the metal storm cellar’s hinged portal with a satisfying _ping!_

‘You owe me.’

‘For what?’

‘Dragging me here. It is inhumanly cold.’

‘You’re wearing a bloody Belstaff,’ John scoffed, ‘and besides, I owe you nothing.’

‘It’s your turn with the groceries,’ Sherlock noted.

‘Yeah, great.’

‘We can go after rehearsal.’

‘Fine, alright, but - hang on, _we?_ ’

Surely John did not have that poor of a memory. ‘I seem to recall a promise being made that I pay for your groceries.’

‘Oh, Sherlock,’ and something softened in John’s gaze as he stopped walking for a moment and looked at Sherlock, who was now perplexed. ‘I was kidding.’

‘Why would one “kid” about such a thing?’

‘I dunno, it was flirting, I guess.’

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow. Interesting. ‘Flirting?’

John blushed. ‘Not flirting, no, but you know what I mean - it wasn’t serious.’

Sherlock frowned. ‘So... you would not like me to pay for your groceries.’

‘I do! I do, it’s just, that’s very kind of you. Thank you. You needn’t -’

‘Don’t carry on so. It was a simple yes or no.’

‘Yes.’

‘Very well. It’s settled then.’

+

‘John, where’s John?’ The choir director, Joe-Schofield-but-somehow-known-ubiquitously-as-Scruffy, gestured for John to come forward. Exchanging confused looks with Sherlock - they’d been about to run their duet - he went hesitantly to the front of the auditorium.

‘What’s up?’ he asked awkwardly, tucking his hands into his jeans pockets. 

‘Hold on.’ Scruffy disappeared amongst the other singers and emerged a moment later, a pretty blonde in his wake. ‘Mary, you know John?’

She flashed him a smile. ‘Yeah, ‘course.’

John frowned. ‘Um... Morstan, right?’

‘Okay, great,’ said Scruffy, bounding over to the piano. ‘I’d like you to sing the duet together. Just see how your voices sound together.’

John’s stomach plummeted. This was _so_ not good. Mike and Greg were glaring pointedly at Mary, which was actually rather touching.

‘Go on then,’ Scruffy said impatiently. ‘Places.’

‘Er.’ John shuffled over next to Mary, who beamed at him. She was pretty, she really was.

‘Great.’ The introduction started playing, and before he could do something utterly idiotic like run screaming from the place, John began singing.

There was no doubt about it: their voices went together. Not in the same way that his and Sherlock’s seemed to curl together as if by design, but in a very light-hearted, _Glee_ sort of way. The kind of duet that people would probably want to hear - would expect to hear - at a uni chorus concert. It lacked the depth and intensity, sure, but it would be a crowd pleaser. John knew it, and, by the looks of it, so did Mary.

Jesus Christ, he was screwed.

‘That was good,’ she said breathlessly, turning to him and taking his hand enthusiastically. ‘That was quite good.’

‘Thanks,’ he muttered. ‘I... we sounded good.’

‘So it’s settled then,’ said Scruffy, beside himself with delight. ‘You two’ll be performing _Hello_ and Sherlock - where’s Sherlock?’

Greg and Mike shook their heads slowly at John, disappointment etched on their faces.

‘Left,’ Greg said brusquely.

Not quite. As John scanned the crowd anxiously, he caught a glimpse of Sherlock’s face. Stony, stormy, and wrecked. He refused to make eye contact with John, and instead turned around, tugged his coat collar up to his neck, and, hunched over as if in crippling pain, stalked out of the room.

Oh god, John was dead.

+

‘You can’t be serious. You are actually such a dick,’ Greg fumed once they’d reached the flat again.

‘How? I don’t understand! You saw me, I wasn’t exactly gung-ho about it, but I had no say in the matter!’

‘You looked like you fancied her, John,’ Mike said, dipping into Greg’s bag of crisps. ‘You didn’t see it, but we all did. Her girlfriends were going berserk.’

‘That’s part of the show!’ John said hotly, temper rising. ‘I’m _supposed_ to look like I like her!’

‘You didn’t have to! You could’ve sung just as well without gazing at her face and the whole nine.’

‘I’m sorry! I’m real effing sorry, okay? I just... Mary’s sweet! She’s got a charisma about her and she’s - she’s really nice, okay? She’s...’

‘Not Sherlock,’ Greg said coldly. He binned the now-empty crisp bag and heaved a sigh.

‘I -’

Mike shook his head again. ‘You didn’t see Sherlock’s face either. He was devastated.’

‘But he and I weren’t getting anywhere! We weren’t - and for the last time, I’m not _gay_ -’

‘You’re being pathetic,’ Greg said, and there was real disdain in his voice. ‘You are in love with Sherlock, and he is in love with you, and you are throwing it away on Mary Morstan.’

‘I don’t understand why -’

‘You know what? We don’t want to hear it,’ said Mike. ‘I get it. You aren’t much of a risk-taker, and Mary’s not much of a risk. But if you’re going to keep this up, after everything you and Sherlock have - I dunno, what you’ve built - in the past few months, Greg and I aren’t going to -’

‘To what? _Talk_ to me? Are we twelve-year-old girls?’

‘You don’t know what it’s like! You haven’t seen the way you guys look at each other when you think no one can see you! You haven’t heard how Sherlock sounds when he says your name to other people! You don’t know, you don’t _effing_  know, and it’s a damn shame.’ Mike ran a hand through his hair.

‘Why are you both so fired up?’ shouted John. ‘What’s in this for you?’

‘We’re your best mates!’ Greg yelled.

John paused and forced himself to count to ten. ‘What’s the real reason?’ he asked quietly.

Mike bit his lip. ‘Look, blud. All the shit that went down with Harry... I know you bounced back, because you’re amiable John Watson - yes, I used a big word, look at that - and you’re the little adorable endearing darling wherever you go, but it was real shitty. It was _bad_ , the things people said to you, about you, and you pretended to turn a blind eye to everything but I know you heard it. We heard it and we did what we could to deflect all the rumours but you just... you deserve this. You were shallow before Sherlock. There wasn’t any... you lived but you didn’t... you weren’t fun anymore.’

‘Thanks a lot,’ John snapped sarcastically. Unbelievable.

‘No, listen,’ said Greg, the two of them evidently tag-teaming it now. ‘You met girls, you flirted with them, and all was good and well but you weren’t _you._ You looked sad sometimes. You stopped talking to your family and you had a sort of, sort of... subdued sort of attitude when we went out. You did what you had to do, but you didn’t enjoy it.’

‘This is a great pep talk. No, keep going,’ said John angrily. 'Tell me more about how my life was  _sooo_ miserable and devoid of love.'

‘Sherlock changed you,’ Mike said softly.

‘You’re both acting like _girls._ ’

‘Sherlock made you enjoy everything,’ Greg continued.

‘Thanks, Mum.’

‘Sherlock made you happy again,’ finished Mike.

‘Right.’

‘He did. He did, and I think you know it.’

John fell silent, because he did know it, but sometimes knowing something just wasn’t enough.

+

Sherlock stared at the ceiling.

‘Sherlock, talk to me.’

‘Go away.’

‘This is irrational. Just because he sang with Mary once doesn’t mean he’s abandoning you.’

Sherlock rubbed his temples agitatedly and sat up on his bed. ‘You don’t understand. That duet symbolised... us. That is what brought us together and that is what finally put a John Watson in my life when I didn’t know how badly I needed one. He is throwing away everything that we have become by relinquishing this duet. You could never understand that.’

‘You’re right, I couldn’t. But this doesn’t mean that he’s in love with her.’

‘It could,’ said Sherlock bitterly, feeling ill. ‘He hasn’t spoken to me since.’

‘He probably feels bad.’

‘Please.’

‘Sherlock...’

‘Irene, I don’t want to talk about this anymore.’

‘He doesn’t hate you.’

‘He could have rejected the offer. I would have done so.’

‘You know John! He’s a lovely young man but he can’t say no.’

‘If he truly cared about me, he would have.’

‘Don’t be dramatic.’

‘I have it on good authority that I am a drama queen.’ The corner of his mouth quirked sadly. ‘John was always...’

‘Do _not_ start reminiscing and pining away. I won’t have it.’

‘Fine. John has replaced me with Mary.’

‘You don’t know that to be true!’

‘I do.’

‘You don’t! All you know is that he sang with her and they sounded good together.’

‘That is sufficient knowledge.’

‘If you’d spoken up before now, this might never have been a problem. You were too cowardly to establish a relationship with John, and this is the price you pay.’

_You were too cowardly._ Sherlock could not bear this anymore.

‘Oh, shit, Sherlock, I’m so sorry,’ said Irene as he slowly unfolded himself and walked robotically to the door. ‘I didn’t mean -’

‘You are correct,’ he said coolly. ‘I am a coward. Now, if you don’t mind very much, I shall return to bearing my punishment in solitude. As, I am sure, John would wish.’

‘Sherlock, no. He isn’t cruel.’

‘And that is the sad truth. John does not have a mean bone in his body. He meant no harm in singing with Mary, and yet he chose her.’

‘For a bloody _duet!_ ’

‘He chose her nonetheless. Granted, he did not mean to hurt me, and he is too good to let the thought cross his mind. But he did it. He hurt me deeply, and now I would quite like to be alone.’

‘Sherlock...’

‘Goodbye, Irene.’

+

That night, neither Sherlock nor John - who normally made a habit of listening to music as they fell asleep - who made a bloody playlist together, teasing each other about the cliche but taking it seriously anyway - touched a single CD or iPod or headphone jack.

They fell asleep in their own beds, in their own lives, to the sound of silence.

+

_Hello darkness, my old friend,_

_I've come to talk with you again,_

_Because a vision softly creeping,_

_Left its seeds while I was sleeping,_

_And the vision that was planted in my brain_

_Still remains_

**_Within the sound of silence._ **

_In restless dreams I walked alone_

_Narrow streets of cobblestone,_

_'Neath the halo of a street lamp,_

**_I turned my collar to the cold and damp_ **

_But my words like silent raindrops fell_

_And echoed in the wells of silence_

_And whispered in the_ **_sound of silence._ **

\--‘The Sound of Silence’ by Simon and Garfunkel 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More angst to come. I'm sorry if I broke anyone's heart. Never fear! Johnlock is endgame, after all.


	10. others

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look at Sherlock and John's relationship as witnessed by others in their life. Not totally integral to the plot.

_Greg_

Greg was generally a pretty laid-back guy. Granted, he had his moments of tire-kicking and tantrum-throwing, but for the most part he was considered to be quite relaxed.

The thing was, he was also fiercely loyal. To a fault, sometimes.

‘Bloody hell,’ he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

This whole business was going to be the death of him.

John didn’t get it. Of course he didn’t, wouldn’t, because that’s what he did. He found happiness and then flaked at the last minute. Happened time and again with the last girl he’d actually liked. Sarina, or something. Sabrina? Sally? Sa...rah? Irrelevant.

He’d cancel dates last minute with no explanation; he’d make excuses not to sit with her at parties; he’d get angry whenever his friends brought her up. It took Greg ages to wrestle a confession out of him, but when John finally twigged to it, he admitted the truth: he didn’t want to get hurt.

This prompted a series of meaningless hookups with girls who he knew would not push him past his emotional limits. Girls who were nice and pretty and easily charmed by John’s sense of humour and unassumingness.

‘Don’t you want something more?’ Greg asked one evening.

‘What? No. I’m fine.’

Ha! John’s jumper was slouchy, stubble peppered his jawline, and there was something defeated in his posture. ‘You’re not fine.’

John glared. ‘I am.’

‘Nah, mate, I know “fine” and you are _not_ that.’

‘She was beautiful.’

‘Sure, but she didn’t make you happy.’

John gave a noncommittal grunt and stared at his hands. The idiot.

Greg scooted closer and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. ‘John. Are you happy?’

John bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut briefly, then gave a small sigh and said sadly, ‘No.’

+

_Mike_

‘You’re hanging out with _Sherlock?’_

‘What?’ asked John defensively, grabbing a sleeve of Weetabix and dumping three into a bowl.

‘Nothing, nothing.’ _Just that he’s a massive arse, and you’ve been head over heels for him for-fecking-ever, and once again, he’s a massive arse. And after all this shite about how you don’t want to get hurt, why on earth would you decide to associate with him. Really, you have self-destructive tendencies, mate._

‘He’s... nice.’ The milk carton was apparently very fascinating, as John couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off of it while saying this. 

Mik struggled briefly. How to put this diplomatically? ‘Look, I know you got a duet and everything, but I dunno, I kind of figured you would... rehearse, and that would be it.’ 

‘He’s really... he’s just, he’s...’ John’s voice trailed off as his mobile trilled and he checked the message. ‘Oh, it’s him. He’s coming over.’

_What?_ ‘Hang on, you didn’t ask either of us if -’

‘Can’t talk now!’ shouted John, who’d abandoned his breakfast and was now rummaging furiously in his dresser, most likely for something decent to wear.

‘But I don’t understand why -’

‘Let it go! Listen,’ he said, re-entering the kitchen as he tugged a jumper over his head, ‘just let us do our thing, yeah?’

Ugh. Mike made a face. This was really, _really_ not good. ‘This is a bad idea.’

‘No, it’s not.’

‘One of your worst, actually.’

‘Shut up. You can have my Weetabix.’

‘Gross.’

John shrugged, and began pacing anxiously in front of the door. Mike groaned. His flatmate was im _possible._

‘Why do you want to meet him so bad?’

‘He’s just - just - okay?’ John flapped a hand in Mike’s general direction. ‘You just don’t get it.’

The doorbell rang, and John opened up, and turned crimson when Sherlock walked in and gave him a crooked smile. 

‘Hello, John.’

‘Hi,’ John said breathlessly. Mike rolled his eyes. This was absolutely ridiculous.

‘Would you care to adjourn to the -’

‘Oh, for god’s sake,’ Mike burst out.

John spun round and gave him the evil eye, then looked back at Sherlock and smiled. ‘Only if you promise to finish James Bond with me.’

‘Of course,’ Sherlock said. He inclined his head politely at Mike, who grimaced.

‘We’ll be talking about this later,’ John hissed as they passed by to go to the next room. A few minutes later, the telly went on. Sighing, Mike _adjourned_ to the bathroom. When he came out and started to shove the rubbish on the table into a corner, he paused.

There was laughter. John was laughing. Like... seriously laughing. And, by the sounds of it, so was Sherlock.

Mike hadn’t heard John like this before, ever.

Christ, the kid was _so_ in love.

He peered cautiously around the corner and almost started when he saw the look on John’s face - or, more precisely, the wide beam and the shining eyes and the sudden lack of tension across his shoulders.

‘Blimey,’ he whispered, and ran to tell Greg.

+

_Molly_

Molly was flipping through a magazine, leaning against Greg’s legs as he struggled through calculus, when Mike burst into the room. She gave a little surprised squeak, but at least everyone was fully dressed this time.

‘Greg Greg Greg Greg GREG,’ Mike said, hurrying over to his flatmate. ‘Listen. _Listen._ ’

‘I’m listening! Calm  _down.’_

‘John’s... John’s in there with Sherlock, right? And he’s - and I heard them laughing, so I went in and he - he just looks _happy._ ’

Molly frowned. Was such a proclamation really cause for _this_ level of excitement? John seemed like a happy guy in the first place, if somewhat moody. What was remarkable, she supposed, was that Sherlock Holmes could be the source of happiness for anyone.

Greg’s face lit up, confusing her further. ‘For real?’ he asked, in the exact same hopeful tone with which he’d asked her out and she said yes.

‘Yes! He’s so... my god, he’s just so excited and _happy_ and - Greg, this is _huge!_ ’

‘Shit, this is amazing.’ Greg paused, then said hesitantly, ‘You know what this means.’

Mike sighed dramatically and threw himself back onto the bed. ‘Sherlock has to stick around.’

‘Yeah.’

Molly finally had to speak up. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘John’s been miserable and depressed for the last hundred years,’ Mike explained, ‘and he’s been alternately drowning his sorrows in meaningless sex and wallowing in the absolute worst ways, and he’s finally _happy._ I don’t think I’ve seen him like this ever, have you?’

‘No, he’s normally calling everyone imbeciles,’ Molly replied. Both men gave her blank stares. ‘Oh! You meant John. I thought... sorry. Sorry.’

‘ _I_ haven’t seen him like this,’ said Greg, ‘and it’s bloody magnificent.’

‘We have to keep it this way.’

Molly was so in over her head right now.

‘Greg, we can never let Sherlock Holmes out of John’s life.’

‘Agreed,’ said Greg, high-fiving him. 

And so it was settled.

+

_Jim_

‘I am going to _crush_ you at the recital,’ Sebastian said conversationally.

Jim tsk-ed. ‘It’s not a competition. We are, alas, on the same team, Seb.’

His friend (enemy?) scoffed and took a puff of his cigarette.

It was as he wracked his brain for something clever to say that Jim thought he saw something and frowned. ‘Wait, is that Sherlock?’

‘Where?’

‘Over there.’

Sebastian squinted. ‘Yeah, it is. So?’

‘Who’s he with?’

‘Is that John?’

‘Holy shit.’

They looked at each other, flummoxed.

‘We’re... this is - this is marvellous,’ said Jim, beginning to snicker. ‘Oh, John is such a good little boy, and Sherlock’s such a badass. They are going to crash and _burn_.’

‘How d’you know they’ve got a thing?’

Jim smirked. ‘They’re headed this way.’

‘So? It’s a coffee shop.’

‘Nah, they’re not just getting coffee. This is _the_ cafe to have a date. They’re dating, trust me. Couldn’t be surer.’

Sebastian looked at him oddly.

‘What?’

‘Nothing, I just...’ He coughed and looked away. ‘Is it really the place to have a date?’

‘I know this town like the back of my hand. Trust me, nobody comes here with someone they have a platonic relationship with. Sherlock and John are _cracked_ if they think this is going to end even marginally well. This is the best day of my -’

‘We’re here, though.’

_Really, did he ever think our relationship was platonic?_ ‘Yeah,’ Jim said, grinning, ‘we are.’

+

_Irene_

‘Shit.’

‘What?’

‘Janine, I’m sorry, I have to go before my best friend makes a total arse of himself.’

‘If you’re talking about Sherlock, I think that ship may have sailed. He’s already the most-hated bloke across campus. No offense.’

‘None taken.’ Irene hurriedly downed the rest of her latte. ‘I’m so sorry - I’ll text you later, promise.’

Janine waved her off. ‘It’s fine. No worries.’ God, this woman was magnificent.

‘I’ll see you later.’

+

‘Do _not_ do that,’ Irene hissed. Why Sherlock would be compelled to make a strangely romantic gesture such as this, when he and John hadn’t even been on a proper date, was beyond her.

Sherlock glanced up from where he was very carefully trimming the large bouquet of flowers he’d collected for John. ‘Whyever not?’

‘Be _cause_ , you moron, you two aren’t even dating.’

‘But this is science. These specimens are extremely rare, and have not provided a use until now. I’ve done quite a lot of research and put quite a lot of work into this and I do believe he will appreciate the guide I am -’

Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god. ‘Sherlock. Are. These. Poisonous.’

‘Hmm? Oh, yes. Well. Only a select few. The others are...’ He frowned and double-checked the petals of the flowers closest to him. ‘Also poisonous.’

_You are so stupid._ Then again, he was also very much in love and very much out of his doubt. Irene prevented herself from listing all the reasons why this was a horrible idea and instead knelt down next to him. ‘Listen,’ she said gently, ‘flowers have a certain connotation, you realise. They’re a sign of romance and flirting. No matter how poisonous these are, and no matter the motives behind such an... interesting gift, it will be perceived as such by others.’

Sherlock looked legitimately confused, the poor baby. ‘But I don’t care about others. I care about John. And, on occasion, you.’

‘I’m flattered. At any rate, you can’t do this.’

‘I am going to.’

‘No, you are absolutely not.’

Sherlock made an annoyed noise and sprung to his feet, plunging his hands into his trouser pockets. ‘I have romantic feelings for John, so how could a romantic gesture possibly be socially unacceptable?’

_Well, for one, most people think you’re a sociopath. For two, you don’t even know if John returns your feelings, and if he does he doesn’t seem like the type to readily admit to them right off the bat without undergoing some sort of sexuality crisis. Thirdly, despite all the LGBTQ alliances and support that have arisen in the past decade, you_ will _be judged for being homosexual (are you even homosexual?) and though everyone assumes and has likely already passed judgment, as your best friend and confidant I do not want that for you._ She settled for, ‘I don’t think everyone would be very nice about it.’

‘People are not very nice about anything. Why should this be more unsettling than usual?’

‘John might not take it well.’ She said it a bit louder and more brusquely than intended and felt horrible when Sherlock flinched.

‘I admit I had not... considered that outcome.’

‘I’m sorry, but it’s true.’

‘Perhaps this was all a bad idea.’

‘No! Not _bad,_ per se.’ Okay, it was pretty bad. Especially the whole poisonous aspect of the plan. ‘Just... not well thought-out.’

‘Well, you needn’t worry about thinking it out for me anymore,’ said Sherlock with a short and insincere smile (a grimace, really). ‘You’ve done quite a thorough job.’

Irene wanted to apologise, or take it back, but she couldn’t. It was the truth and like it or not, she had just saved her best friend a shitton of torment and general unpleasantness.

‘Would you like these?’ Sherlock enquired a moment later.

‘I’m good.’

‘I thought perhaps you might like to gift them to Janine. Put them to use.’

Irene wanted to hug him. Honestly, he was mostly, well, _Sherlock_ , but every so often he would say or do the absolute sweetest things, and Irene wished she could videotape it and show every person who’d called him arrogant and standoffish exactly how wrong they were.

‘Sorry,’ he muttered when she didn’t respond, and moved to bin them.

‘Stop! I’ll... I don’t think I’ll give them to her, but you might as well keep them, yeah?’

‘I suppose so.’ He eyed the bright violet one suspiciously. ‘This one may begin to pollute the flat, however, so the suggestion, while appreciated, may be ill-advised.’

‘Is it really that poisonous?’

‘Not particularly. Mainly it causes shortness of breath, wheezing, light-headedness, and, if ingested long enough, loss of consciousness which may require immediate medical attention. It’s fine, though.’

Irene sighed and reached for the garbage can.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Though this doesn't further the plot, I hope you enjoyed it anyway.


	11. distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘How long d’you really think you can keep this up?’ Mike asked pointedly as he came behind John and reached over him for a plate. He paused, then said quietly, ‘You love him.'
> 
> John said nothing, which said everything.

Sherlock showed up on Irene’s doorstep the following day. ‘I apologise,’ he said.

She looked shifty. ‘You’re... thank you. We’ll talk later.’

‘No, I just -’

‘ _Later,_ Sherlock.’

Frustrated, he craned his neck to see over her shoulder. ‘Why so secretive?’

‘I’m not.’

‘You are.’

‘Listen, I really do appreciate it. And I’m very happy to talk to you about this, just not now.’

‘You still have my hair dryer,’ Sherlock said. It wasn’t _technically_ his; he stole it from Mycroft’s suite when he’d been subjected to the torture of ‘family time,’ but the point still stood. He swiftly inserted himself between Irene and the door before forcing himself in. 

And stopped still on the threshold.

John was seated uncomfortably on Irene’s sofa, drumming his fingers on the cushion beside him, when he saw his (ex) best friend. He froze and visibly swallowed, then opened his mouth to say something. Petrified, Sherlock backed up slowly.

Things went from bad to worse, honestly.

‘Good morning, brother,’ said a disgustingly familiar drawl. Mycroft emerged from the kitchen with a tepid half-smile. 

‘I’m so sorry,’ Irene whispered behind him.

Sherlock turned and fled.

+

‘Stop. Stop it. Pull yourself together,’ Irene told John sternly.

‘He thinks I hate him. He hates me. He - god, this is horrible. This is awful. I am so screwed.’ John scrubbed his hand through his hair. ‘I hate him. He hates -’

‘Stop,’ Mycroft said imperiously. John looked up dolefully as the other man unfolded himself from the chair and began pacing slowly across the room. ‘My brother has a delicate heart. He is far more emotionally fragile than he cares to admit. You injured him and due to his excessive sensitivity, he reacted in an unfortunate capacity. You are to blame’ - ‘Thanks,’ muttered John - _‘however,_ he is responsible for his resulting conduct.’

‘I should apologise, shouldn’t I?’

‘Indubitably.’

‘But he won’t talk to me, or look at me. I don’t know what he’s thinking.’

‘Let me fill in the blanks for you there,’ Irene spoke up. Her state of undress - literally a skimpy bralette and soffe shorts - was still a little alarming to John, but the Holmes men had both appeared unfazed. ‘He is hurt, for the most part. I believe he thinks you’re in love with Mary and have therefore been unfaithful, though he won’t say as much.’

‘Unfaithful? We weren’t dating!’ John was growing really sick of this conversation.

‘John, please,’ said Mycroft dismissively. ‘You two have feelings for each other.’

‘Yeah, but just ‘cause we fancied each other a bit doesn’t mean we were _in love._ ’

Irene and Mycroft both crossed their legs and waited. God, it was like they were telepathic or something. John really wished he hadn’t shot off that SOS text to Irene, but he’d had no idea what else to do.

‘We weren’t,’ he insisted feebly.

The duo sighed simultaneously.

‘Fine. Fine, I was sort of in love with him.’

‘Ah. Excellent,’ said Mycroft. Irene wasn’t quite as satisfied, leaning back and gazing down her nose at John.

_‘Was?’_ she enquired keenly.

‘It’s not... not like that, anymore. He. We. Aren’t talking. You know.’

‘That doesn’t mean that feelings simply disappear,’ Irene said gently.

‘There’s no point holding onto it when he won’t talk to me anymore.’

Mycroft sighed dramatically. ‘This has become tiresome, John. If you sink any further into the depths of questionable despair, I shall lose my highly valued and undeniably superior mind. I’ve only a certain threshold for wallowing teenage boys, you see, and am afraid that I am on the verge of hitting it.’

John scowled at the ground. ‘Leave, then.’

‘Very well. I will see myself out. Good luck,’ he said to Irene. ‘Do talk some sense into that peculiar head of his.’

‘I’ll try my best,’ she said, flashing him a smile, and without further ado he left.

‘I hate this,’ groaned John. ‘So, so much. I just. I can’t. Can’t do this whole... this, whatever it is.’

‘I wish I could tell you to apologise and everything will go back to the way it was.’

‘Yeah. But it’s not like that anymore.’

‘No,’ she said sadly, ‘it’s not. What you two need is communication, and I don’t know if Sherlock is capable of listening to you right now.’

Before John could open his mouth and spout out another feeble excuse, his mobile rang. ‘Hello?’

‘John! Hi, it’s Mary.’ Great. Bloody fan _tastic_ , this was.

‘Listen, Mary, I have to -’

‘Do you have plans tonight?’

‘I... nope. I don’t. This isn’t a good -’

‘Do you want to have dinner together? We could go to the cinema -’

‘Mary, I can’t talk right now, I -’

‘I’ll text you the details.’

‘Er... alright.’

‘Bye, John.’

‘What was that?’ asked Irene.

‘I don’t... it all happened so fast,’ John replied, flummoxed. 

‘Listen,’ said Irene, ‘nobody’s saying you shouldn’t talk to Mary. And between you and me, I do agree that Sherlock may be overreacting. However, as I’m sure you have noticed, though perhaps not to the degree that you should, Sherlock is different. He views sentiment as weakness and friendship as a joke. For him to open up to you, to spend time with you, to develop feelings from you and not shy away... that isn’t something that Sherlock Holmes does, or has ever done. To him, you were everything. He has no real concept of the difference between a best friend and boyfriend because to him, it was always the two of you against the world. He feels betrayed, perhaps not rightfully so. I know your intentions were good. But Sherlock cannot comprehend that, particularly not now.’

‘So what do I do?’

Irene sighed, and for the first time she looked unsure. ‘That,’ she said, ‘is an excellent question.’

+

Sherlock laid across his bed, legs dangling off the edge, and stared solemnly at his ceiling. That John would go behind his back, exploit his brother and best friend, was abhorrent and deplorable. That it was John added a certain degree of complexity that Sherlock was far better without.

Except it _was_ John, wasn’t it, and John’s complexity was why Sherlock - no. He didn’t. He wouldn’t. Wouldn’t admit it, at least.

Irene invited herself into his room, as she tended to do with every area of his life, and sat down next to him, squeezing his knee. 'You’re overreacting, you know,' she said gently.

Sherlock glared at her with one eye and threw his arm over his face.

'He doesn’t fancy Mary.'

'He used me,' Sherlock said bitterly. 'Used me for my voice.'

'No, he didn’t.'

'If you plan to side with him, then I’d like you to leave. Please.'

'There aren’t _sides,_ Sherlock. They’re… oh, for god’s sake. Look at me.' She grabbed his hand and pulled him up to face her on the bed. 'John shouldn’t have chosen Mary. He should’ve fought. That said, he was in a tough situation, and anyone would have gone along with what the choir director dictated.'

'I wouldn’t have,' Sherlock said darkly.

'You are so effing dramatic,' said Irene, and shook her head. 'Not everyone is as obstinate as you. Most people, like John, are generally agreeable and non-argumentative.'

'I thought we -'

Irene rolled her eyes so far back in her head that she saw spots. 'Don’t you dare start on that again. You _did_ have something. You still do, or would, if you’d pull it together and apologise for your histrionics.'

'I’ve nothing to apologise for,' Sherlock bristled.

'John knows he hurt you. What you have to realise, Sherlock, is that…' She sighed and patted him on the hand. 'Neither of you said anything. John had no idea that you were attached.'

'We spoke every day, we never -'

'It doesn’t matter what you did. There was no communication.'

'Oh, please,' Sherlock scoffed, 'as if you communicate with anyone.'

'I do.'

He raised an eyebrow.

'Janine,' she said, and tried not to blush.

'Ah. Congratulations. So lovely to hear about your romantic and sexual successes when the - when John has betrayed me and -'

'Sherlock, my _god,_ you are impossible. John shouldn’t have done what he did. But you never established that you had feelings for each other, and I know you’re hurt. I know. I’m not happy with John either. You’re fragile and he should have accounted for that. He should have thought about it before he took the part and went out with Mary -'

Sherlock froze. 'They went out?'

'No. It wasn’t like that. She thought it was a date. He didn’t want to go on it.'

'Wonderful.'

'She’s clingy. And possessive. And overbearing.'

'You dislike her.'

'Immensely.’ She crossed her legs and leaned forward. ‘Sherlock, I think you’re letting your pride get in the way. You know I’m right.'

Sherlock shook his head. 'This isn’t pride.'

'What is it, then?'

'It was... the duet was a - a symbol of what we were. Partnership, if you want to be trite.'

'But that's the _point,'_ Irene said emphatically, 'which is that it started this partnership. Friendship. Relationship. It's like the first pick-up line. But that’s just the _seed_ of the relationship. It may have started because of the duet but it extended far beyond that.’

Sherlock remained silent.

‘Listen. John doesn’t want Mary. He wants you. His friends know it, I know it, even bloody Mycroft knows it.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ Sherlock said, because in his experience this was an excellent way to cut short a conversation he did not want to have. Irene wasn’t fooled.

‘You won’t.’

_‘Please_ leave,’ Sherlock said.

‘I’ll be back. Eat lunch,’ Irene added, and gave his knee one more squeeze. ‘I’m going to check in on you, you know. If you’re still moping around at’ - she checked her watch - ‘three, I’m going to personally drag you out of bed and shove you out the door to go for a nice brisk walk until you come to your senses.’

_‘Leave,’_ Sherlock repeated, nudging her with his foot.

‘Love you,’ she said, and blew him a kiss as she finally left.

+

Sherlock stared out the window. He didn’t _love_ John.

Oh god, he loved John.

It was sunny out, which he didn’t particularly like, because all he could think of was John and John with Mary and John _not_ with Sherlock and all he could do was wonder if John felt the same way and if it was killing him too, or if he never felt the same. Rainy weather seemed much more apropos.

Sherlock hated feelings. They decimated him. Maybe it was an issue of sensitivity: the more accustomed to feelings he became, the less they would affect him. Or maybe it was just because it was John, and because it was feelings, and months of friendship with someone as brilliant and captivating as John Watson just _did_ that to a person.

Remembering Irene’s threat to drag him outside, Sherlock sighed and finally pushed himself off the bed.

+

**_The sun is filling up the room_ **

_And I can hear you dreaming_

**_Do you feel the way I do right now?_ **

_I wish we would just give up_

_Cause the best part is falling_

_Call it anything but love_

+

‘Are you ever going to stop being mad at me?’ John said irritably when he returned to the flat and Greg was giving him the cold shoulder.

‘He’s still being dramatic,’ said Mike, walking into the room and chugging a bottle of water.

John groaned. ‘I talked to Irene and Mycroft. They enlightened me. I guess.’

Greg looked up, hopeful. ‘So it’s all good? You two are getting back together?’

‘We were never tog - sod it. No, we aren’t, because he needs space.’ It sounded canned even to John’s ears.

‘Are you sure about that? I’m pretty sure he could do with a good snogging,’ Mike quipped.

‘I just. I can’t do this anymore,’ John said, choosing to ignore his friend’s remark. ‘I need to distance myself. Or he does. We both do, I reckon.’

Greg gave him a searching look, then sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. ‘It’s your call, mate. I just think you’re making a massive mistake, but it’s not my life.’

‘Thanks for the support,’ John muttered, and rummaged around in the cupboard for some crisps.

‘How long d’you really think you can keep this up?’ Mike asked pointedly as he came behind John and reached over him for a plate. He paused, then said quietly, ‘You love him.’

John said nothing, which said everything.

+

**_And I will make sure to keep my distance_ **

_Say,_ **_"I love you,"_ ** _when you're not listening_

**_And how long can we keep this up, up, up?_ **

+

A week later, they still hadn’t spoken. Sherlock, unsurprisingly, stopped going to choir, leaving John rehearsing with Mary. Mary was a bit of a try-hard in his opinion; though he said nothing, he did see through her giggly, witty facade because contrary to what the general public seemed to think, he was not an imbecile. 

Sherlock appeared to have dropped off the face of the earth. Irene seemed reluctant to give John any information whenever he texted her, and as a result he occupied himself learning songs on guitar, which went poorly, and going on not-really-dates with Mary, which also went poorly, and trying his utmost not to think about Sherlock, which went very very poorly.

It was strange, how suddenly apparent it was that Sherlock had become an integral component of John’s life. It wasn’t until he was gone that John fully realised the depth to which Sherlock was essential, and at this point it was probably too late. That ship had sailed. 

+

They were grocery shopping when they bumped into each other the first time since they'd stopped talking. John, preoccupied as he answered a flurry of texts from Greg regarding Molly advice (which John felt very ill-equipped to provide, given his recent failures in the love department), bumped into a bloke wearing a hoodie as they stood in the Express line, and gave a distracted, ‘Excuse me.’

‘It’s -’

They both froze. John’s jaw nearly dropped in horror: Sherlock was wearing a _hoodie_ and had stubble, actual _stubble._

And he was still unfairly attractive.

Suddenly feeling panicked and not wanting to even know what could possibly lie in Sherlock’s expression, John ducked his head. He didn’t particularly fancy Sherlock seeing whatever terrified look was probably splashed across his face either, especially given the fact that John had a nasty tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve. They stood like that for a split second, too many points of contact to be remotely comfortable, before John was stumbling backwards and Sherlock was standing there, watching him, until he too came to his senses and fled.

+

**_Please don't stand so close to me_ **

**_I'm having trouble breathing_ **

**_I'm afraid of what you'll see right now_ **

_I give you everything I am_

_All my broken heart beats_

_Until I know you'll understand_

\--‘Distance’ by Christina Perri 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading as always!


	12. i cannot dream a brighter world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then it hit him. He’d never said anything to John. Not the way he should have. He’d said things nearly as straightforward as ‘I think I really fancy you, let’s please go out,’ but never the words themselves. John couldn’t read minds, and therefore was oblivious to subtext; though he was above average in nearly every aspect of his person, even he could not rise beyond mediocrity when it came to picking up on subtleties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY. Thank you to Doodlegirl for her comment/reminder to finally post this chapter :)
> 
> I'm currently in Singapore for an internship, and I worked all summer, and graduated in June, so life's been a bit busy and hectic since I last updated - I won't make excuses though because I definitely should have posted this sooner! I've left the fandom a bit (on tumblr, at least) but never fear, I will continue writing fic until the end of time.
> 
> I can't promise when I will post chapter 13; rest assured, however, that I have an outline that I'm following, and I will work on it when I can.
> 
> Though the song doesn't 100% match the chapter, I really like it and it reminded me of the contrast between John and Sherlock - "you're the calm sea and I'm the chaos" - and their love is with each other all the time.

‘You need to pull it together,’ Irene said, barging into Sherlock’s room. ‘John told me about the grocery store.’

Sherlock rolled over and put his back to her.

‘Sherlock. You are wearing a hoodie and you haven’t shaved in a week.’

Sherlock said nothing.

‘Fine,’ Irene said, ‘I’ll be back.’

Half an hour later she returned and threw a razor, shaving cream, and deodorant onto the bed next to Sherlock.

‘Shave, get dressed, and we are going out.’

‘No.’

‘Yes. You’re moping and it’s very unbecoming.’

‘Sod off.’

‘No. Get dressed.’

‘ _No_.’

‘Get dressed _now.’_ She grabbed him by the arms, surprisingly strong, and yanked him off the bed so roughly that he fell onto the floor.

‘Your workout sessions with Janine are benefiting you,’ Sherlock said in an attempt to protect his pride.

‘Our relationship is completely irrelevant to the situation at hand,’ snapped Irene.

‘How long have you been dating?’ Sherlock got to his feet and felt instantly better as he re-established their height difference.

‘You will _not_ distract me,’ Irene said sternly, and forcefully pushed the items into his hand. ‘I’m going to wait here, you are going to go to the bathroom, shave, put on some deodorant, and then I will personally rip you out of those clothes and replace them with something laundered and not covered in questionable stains, and we will go for a walk.’

And because Irene was moderately terrifying to normal people, which meant mildly perturbing to Sherlock, he begrudgingly obliged. ‘Fine, but I’ll be using my own shaving products and you can bin this horrific chunk of plastic, thank you,’ he said, chucking the razor disdainfully at his friend. Irene grinned.

+

Sherlock had to admit that it was considerably nicer outside than in the stale, slightly chemical-y air of his room. He allowed himself to enjoy the sunlight, harsh at winter’s peak, for less than half a minute before Irene started up. ‘Look, it’s been two weeks. How long is it going to take for you to come to your senses?’

‘I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about,’ Sherlock claimed loftily.

Irene made an annoyed noise, grabbed him quite suddenly from behind, and frogmarched him over to a bench. ‘Sit,’ she ordered.

He pulled free of her grip but sat, albeit begrudgingly. ‘You might try kickboxing. I think you’ll find it a preferable alternative to continually taking out your unresolved aggressions on me.’

Irene ignored him and plowed ahead, as she was wont to do. ‘Look. I’m going to give it to you straight. If you interrupt, I _will_ tell Mycroft to intervene, which he’s already threatened to do multiple times. Believe it or not, he does care about you, and when you are in pain he experiences something of a sympathetic response. At any rate.’ She snapped her fingers in front of Sherlock’s face. ‘Stay here. No going to your mind palace. There will be no avoidance. Got it?’

He nodded glumly.

‘Right. You do not function in the social world like everybody else does. Because you and John never put a label on what you had, he was none the wiser. You need to talk about things, Sherlock. They don’t simply _become_ what you want them to become. If you wanted you and John to be official, you needed to say something. Or him, but he’s frankly proven to be rather wimpy. Just because you considered the two of you to be, for lack of a better word, “in a relationship,” didn’t mean that anybody else did, especially John. This is as much your fault as it is his. You can’t call him disloyal when his loyalties were never determined to lie with you. He was a free agent. Becoming romantically involved with Mary was entirely within his rights. So stop blaming him for that.’

‘I didn’t _want_ us to be official,’ Sherlock said hotly. ‘I’ve no idea what the term means, and labels are insignificant and pointless.’

‘That’s the problem!’ Irene jabbed a finger at him. ‘You may think they’re pointless, but guess what, the rest of the world doesn’t! What you perceive as irrelevant information is possibly the most relevant, and the truth is, your reality is flawed! If you are going to function at all, if you are going to maintain any type of romantic relationship, then you need to go along with the way the world works. This means acquiescing to all the labels you deem stupid. Otherwise, you end up a miserable cracking idiot, which you’ve done a splendid job of so far.’

Sherlock could feel his arguments weakening. ‘But,’ he protested, ‘people are _dull._ John - I thought John was mine. Why should it matter what extraneous opinions they hold?’

‘It shouldn’t, and in the long run it doesn’t. What matters is John’s opinion - which you esteem more than you probably should - and yes, he may be dull, but he still has feelings and he still adheres to society’s rules about labels and all the bits you want to ignore.’

 _‘He_ isn’t dull,’ Sherlock said. ‘But -’

Irene held up a hand and for once, Sherlock paused. ‘John is yours, just as you are his,’ she said, gentling her voice slightly and leaning forward, ‘but you two never acknowledged it. How on earth was he supposed to know?’

‘Know what?’

‘That you cared about him too, dummy.’

Sherlock stared blankly at Irene. ‘Of course he did.’

Irene looked very pained and very, very much done with everything. ‘Oh-kay,’ she said slowly. ‘I cannot _believe_ I have to explain this to you.’

Sherlock frowned. ‘Explain what?’

With the most frustrated and drawn out sigh known to humanity, Irene ran a hand through her hair and said in an unnecessarily condescending tone, ‘John can’t read minds.’

‘Of course he can’t, I’m not stupid.’

‘No, I don’t think you understand. What you consider to be blatantly evident is often not so evident to outsiders. In other words, just because you think it was obvious - and granted, we all did too, but your John’s a bit daft there - doesn’t mean it actually was.’

‘I... I don’t...’

And then it hit him. He’d never said anything to John. Not the way he should have. He’d said things nearly as straightforward as ‘I think I really fancy you, let’s please go out,’ but never the words themselves. John couldn’t read minds, and therefore was oblivious to subtext; though he was above average in nearly every aspect of his person, even he could not rise beyond mediocrity when it came to picking up on subtleties.

Jesus, did he resent Irene for being so bloody right all the time.

Irene was nodding triumphantly. ‘And circle gets the square.’

‘My god you’re good,’ he muttered.

‘Well, I _am_ your number one bitch.’

‘Please never utter that phrase again.’

‘Valid. Right.’ She stood up and offered him a hand, which he pointedly ignored. ‘Do you get it now? Really?’

‘John wasn’t mine because I didn’t say anything as I was under the assumption that my feelings for him were obvious, therefore my indignation in light of his relationship with Mary is unfounded and wholly my own fault. Yes?’

Irene patted his hand. ‘Good man.’

Sherlock _hated_ asking for her help. However, she seemed to somewhat know what she was talking about, so he gritted his teeth and said, ‘Now the question begs itself: what do I do?’

‘You go talk to him.’

Sherlock blanched. ‘No, no. You misunderstand me. Short of talking to him, what do I do?’

‘Are you kidding me? You’re a genius, work out the logic yourself. This whole thing started when you didn’t talk to him. So... how do you solve it?’

‘That’s what I asked you.’

She groaned loudly. ‘Look, Janine’s waiting for me at my place, so you’re going to get it together and go talk to John while I go have sex. Sound good? Excellent.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘I believe in you. Text me.’

‘Irene, I’m not -’

‘Deal with it,’ she said, and left.

+

_You're the calm sea and I'm the chaos so, I cannot do this on my own._

_Wind that drifts, the one where I thought, oh, I cannot dream a brighter world_

_So as long as I have breath to breathe, a hand to hold, and a heart that beats, you will find my love is with you all the time_

+

John hummed to himself as he transcribed his anatomy notes. The library was dark, because although it was open 24/7 very few uni students were much inclined to spend their Friday nights laboring over medical textbooks. Mary had invited him out, predictably, but he’d meant it when he said he needed a breather.

She’d grown on him more than he’d anticipated. Of course, nobody would ever come close to a suitable replacement for Sherlock, but he didn’t hate spending time with her. For all her seeming pushiness and fake smile, deep down she was a genuinely kind and caring person. He appreciated that. Plus, she was a welcome distraction, particularly seeing as Greg and Mike were currently regarding him with frosty disapproval. Jesus, of all the times for his best friends to decide they cared about what happened in his life. Their treatment could technically have something to do with the fact that he was also dating one of their least favorite people, but it was the principle of the thing.

‘I do believe he’s ready to talk.’

‘Jesus _Christ!’_ yelped John, jumping three inches in the air and knocking his laptop and notebook onto the floor. ‘Mycroft, you twat.’

‘Anatomy? I can’t say as I much enjoyed that class.’ Mycroft emerged from the shadows and gazed imperiously down at John.

‘Did you even go to uni? Or do any normal people things, ever? No, don’t answer that. I don’t -’ John took a deep breath. ‘Okay. Now that you’ve finished giving me a heart attack, do you need something from me or can I go back to securing my future?’

‘You can secure a future without the trivialities of education,’ Mycroft said loftily.

‘Yeah, by dodgy government “work,”’ John replied, making skeptical air quotes with his fingers.

‘It’s no matter. Irene spoke with Sherlock and I have been reliably informed that the conversation went tremendously. This information was confirmed by a resentful text I received later from my brother.’

John blinked. ‘What?’

‘Irene spoke, Sherlock finally listened. I am given to understand that this means he is prepared to make amends with you, or at least entertain the possibility of actively welcoming you back into his life.’

‘Hang on. I’ve spent the past week coming to terms with the fact that - that he didn’t want anything to do with me, and now you’re saying - what, that he’s suddenly fine? That’s bollocks.’

Mycroft sighed. ‘I regret my involvement in this situation more than you know. How shall I make this clearer?’ He pulled out a chair and took a seat in one fluid motion, primly resting his hands on his lap. ‘Irene explained to Sherlock that although his ownership of you and yours of him seemed apparent in his mind, it was not so in yours, and that you are incapable of mind reading and therefore are not to blame for failing to spurn another’s advances.’

‘I have so many questions right now. Give me a - right, okay, so - ownership? I don’t -’ John spluttered, feeling incredibly dim. ‘You’re - he thought he _owned_ me?’

‘Not in a way that would diminish your free will. Rather, he has long since come to terms with the fact that he is devoted to you, emotionally and physically. He quite hoped that you felt the same, and that if this was the case, he could own you in the same capacity. It makes sense in his head. Not so much in ours, but we must adapt.’

‘He... so he stopped talking to me because he thought I cheated on him? And he thought - Jesus Christ.’ John ran a hand through his hair. ‘He definitely fancies me, then.’

Mycroft shot him a withering look.

‘Sorry, sorry. So now he gets it, yeah? I couldn’t cheat on him because we weren’t dating.’

The withering look intensified.

 _‘Sorry,_ I’m just - this is a lot to take in and I’m really tired and -’

Mycroft stood up and tugged his shirt cuffs down. ‘Might I suggest,’ he said, ‘that perhaps a conversation with my brother is in order?’

‘What, now?’

‘Are you always this slow?’

‘Hey, I already told you, I’m really tired,’ John said.

‘No, not now. Get a good night’s rest, then re-evaluate in the morning. I find that the best decisions are made after some amount of thought has been given to the matter, however subconsciously.’

‘Yeah. Yeah, alright. Er - thanks,’ he added awkwardly. ‘You’re, uh. Thanks.’

Mycroft allowed a small, thin smile. ‘I care about Sherlock’s well being, and you appear to have become a vital component in ensuring his happiness. Besides, when he is happy my job is considerably less tiresome. I thank you for that.’

From Mycroft Holmes, that was about as high as praise came. ‘Ta,’ said John, and waved as Mycroft melted back into the shadows.

+

_My love is with you all the time._

_My love is with you all the time._

_With you all the time._

_My love is with you all the time._

\--“My Love Is With You” by Fort Atlantic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA 2017: I'm no longer doing the internship, but I'm going to be a college sophomore (crazy right) as a psych major. For anyone who wanted updates on my life.


	13. now i can't wait to see you again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the end, he decided to call Sherlock instead of texting. ‘Hey,’ he said, heart pounding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one week, what?! I just decided to be nice, I guess ;)
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me through this fic! I'm in the home stretch now, with chapter 14 almost done and everything else planned out, so with any luck and lack of procrastination I should complete it by the end of November at the latest.

Per Mycroft’s advice, John re-evaluated in the morning, and concluded rather unhelpfully that he didn’t want to deal with this, not even a little bit. Things with Sherlock were complicated, and while John was busting his arse over school and balancing this strange situation with Mary wherein they texted every day and he didn’t totally hate her company, he simply did not possess the wherewithal to handle a serious conversation.

‘He’s ready to talk,’ John told Greg that morning as he got breakfast.

‘Who, Sherlock?’

‘Yeah. He said he’s ready to talk.’

 _‘YES!’_ Greg said, rubbing his hands together in excitement. ‘So, when are you going to kiss and make up?’

‘What? No, that’s not... I’m not doing that.’

Greg went from ecstatic to incredibly fed up in about 0.1 seconds. ‘The hell?’ he asked incredulously. ‘What, you’re just gonna faff around and not confront the love of your life?’

‘No,’ John said through gritted teeth. It was his fault, really, for thinking that Greg might be mature and understanding about this. ‘I don’t know. I need time.’

‘That is such bullshit,’ his flatmate proclaimed, pushing his empty cereal bowl away across the table and leaning back in his chair with arms crossed.

‘It’s not,’ John snapped.

‘You’re too scared to talk to him. Jesus, it’s like you’ve got a phobia of being happy.’

‘That’s not _true_ ,’ John said angrily.

‘Yeah? Then why aren’t you going to go get the boy?’

‘Because - because I just don’t have time for it right now.’

Greg eyed the cereal box. ‘D’you reckon I’ll get sick if I have another bowl?’

‘I dunno, how many have you had?’

‘Seven.’

John thought for a moment. ‘Go for it.’

‘Cheers.’ Greg poured another heaping bowl and spoke around a mouthful when he continued, ‘Anyway, stop making excuses. If you want to be with him, be with him. Apologise for withholding the truth and being a coward, and I’m sure he’ll be more than cool with it. I mean, he was kind of an idiot too.’ He frowned. ‘You shouldn’t’ve gone off with Mary, though.’

‘You just don’t like her.’

Greg brandished his spoon and said dismissively, ‘She’s fake as hell and we all think she’s a bitch. Especially after she stole you from Sherlock.’

‘Hey, be nice. Besides, wasn’t like she knew anything, was it?’

‘It’s too early in the morning to be nice. And yeah, that’s probably on you to tell her, mate.’ Greg inhaled the rest of his cereal, then dumped the bowl in the sink and reached for his backpack. ‘Have you seen my calculator?’

‘No.’

‘Think that’ll be an issue?’

‘What do you need it for?’

‘Math test.’ Greg thought for a moment. ‘Yeah, probably. I’ll go take Molly’s, she doesn’t care.’

‘She probably does. It’s expensive and she might need it,’ John pointed out.

Greg smirked. ‘Maybe, but she loves me. I’ll see you,’ and he patted John rather condescendingly on the head as he left.

+

John ran into Mary en route to anatomy. ‘Hi,’ he said.

It took a moment to register that she looked upset. Before he could ask what was wrong, she grabbed his arm and said urgently, ‘Check your email.’

‘Why? Is everything okay?’

‘Just check it. It’s about Scruffy,’ she said. ‘Sorry, I’m in a rush, but call me later, okay?’

‘Oh, I - okay,’ replied John.

He opened up his email as soon as he got to anatomy - if he failed his next exam, Mary was entirely to blame - and clicked on the one she’d no doubt been referring to.

_Hi Chorus Members,_

_I hope this message finds you well._

_After much deliberation, I regret to inform you that the chorus program will be shut down as of January 2016. There are a number of reasons why this is the case, a major one being lack of funds. I am sure you understand that in large university systems, budget cuts are occasionally deemed necessary after careful financial analysis._

_I realise that many of you enjoy and support the chorus program. There will be other opportunities, such as club organizations and local open mics, but chorus will not return for the foreseeable future. As for Joe Schofield’s job status, he has been informed that he will not be returning after truncation of the program. We wish him well and are confident that with his talent he will find employment elsewhere. The Christmas concert will proceed as planned._

_If you have questions or concerns, please do not hesitate to drop by during office hours or send us an email._

_Regards,_

_William S. Schaffer_

‘Bloody hell,’ he muttered. Though he wasn’t exceptionally attached to choir, he did enjoy it, and Joe was a good man with a lot of talent. This would come as a blow to the more devoted members. He, at least, had gotten everything there was to get out of his chorus experience.

But now was not the time to dwell.

As he was about to close out of the window and open up his notes, another email popped up in the same chain. It was a response to the original message, sent only to chorus members.

_BUT. I’ve been told that if we kick some serious ass at the concert and raise enough funds/prove that choir is worth keeping, then we may survive the cuts._

_Bring it on._

_-Scruffy_

About a minute later, Greg forwarded Joe’s message to John with his own ominous addition.

_U know what that means.........._

John sighed. If this concert was going to be a success, he would need to sing the duet with Mary.

That sounded like a great problem for Future John to deal with.

+

‘How was your day?’ Greg asked when John got home and threw himself onto the sofa.

‘Shit,’ John said, his face stuffed into a pillow. ‘Just suffocate me right here, okay?’

‘C’mon, mate, it’s not all that bad.’

John looked up at him bleakly. ‘Where’s Molly?’

‘Studying. Don’t you have a giant ass stats test?’

‘Shit,’ John swore into the cushion.

‘You forget about it?’

‘Yep. I’ve got a huge anatomy exam too, and an essay, and I’m so done.’

Greg grimaced. ‘Sorry, blud.’

‘Not your fault.’ John pulled himself upright and sat on the couch properly. ‘I honestly don’t have time to deal with anything right now.’

‘You mean Sherlock and Mary?’

‘Don’t remind me.’

Greg, as was his M.O., ignored him. ‘So... are you going to talk to him?’

‘Not right now. Too much going on. I want to pass out and sleep until spring.’

‘Did you see my email?’

John rubbed a hand over his face. ‘Yeah. And you’re right. It’s fine. I mean, there are worse people to do a duet with.’

‘Debatable,’ Greg said. ‘So you really won’t talk to Sherl?’

‘Please don’t call him that.’

‘Too late. Answer the question.’

‘Not right now.’

‘You don’t have to do anything. You can just talk. And hang out and deal with the sex later.’

‘Shut up,’ John said, cuffing Greg on the shoulder.

‘You know what I mean. I think you should talk and get some of it sorted. That’ll make you feel better, yeah?’

‘Maybe,’ John mumbled into his hands. ‘Oh god, that means I have to talk to Irene.’

‘You can’t do it on your own?’

‘No, I’ll screw it up.’

‘Low self esteem much?’

‘It’s true. She knows what to say. I don’t.’

‘Irene scares the shit out of me,’ Greg said conversationally.

John sighed. ‘Me too.’

+

Irene’s flat left virtually nothing to the imagination as to what had transpired there last night. Gingerly stepping over a discarded bra - she didn’t even have the decency to look sheepish - John followed her into the kitchen and took a seat, taking the proffered glass of water.

‘Why are you here?’ Irene said, cutting right to the chase.

‘It’s... pretty obvious, right? I’m gonna talk to Sherlock.’

‘About?’

‘Feelings, and shit.’

‘That is a horrible opening line.’

‘I just - shut up - I need to know what to say. And. I guess I want your opinion.’ John braced himself.

Irene stroked a finger thoughtfully along her bottom lip and then said, ‘Feelings aside, you should not have bailed on Sherlock.’

‘I...’

She shook her head. ‘Don’t. You know it’s true. If nothing else, you should never abandon a partner like that.’

John bristled. ‘It’s literally a _chorus._ It doesn’t even count. It’s not like we were business partners or something that actually matters.’

‘It’s the principle of the thing.’ Irene hesitated. ‘I cannot guarantee the outcome of this conversation. But I do honestly believe that Sherlock is, for once, in the right state of mind to be socially competent.’

‘That’s encouraging,’ John said sarcastically.

Irene eyed him disapprovingly. ‘No need for rudeness.’

‘Not being rude,’ he pointed out. ‘I’m just saying.’

‘Sure,’ she said, clearly unconvinced.

‘You don’t like me very much, do you.’ It was matter of fact.

Irene seemed to mull this over for a moment before carefully selecting her words. ‘You must understand, I dislike most people. By nature and by choice I am not a loving person. Unlike you and Mary, I cannot simply strike up a conversation and exude warmth and friendship within the first meeting. I am considerably more socially ept than Sherlock, yes, but ultimately he and I are no different. If I seem disdainful, it is because I view you the same way I view everyone else.’ She paused. ‘But for the record, I do like you. I’ve grown rather protective and affectionate, if easily exasperated, since we started talking.’

‘Wow. That means - that actually means a lot,’ John said. ‘I mean, if you hate everyone, and you don’t mind me... cheers.’

Irene appeared to backtrack and cleared her throat. ‘Right. So, that conversation is now closed. Talk to him.’

John took the subject change in stride; if there was anything he understood, it was sudden embarrassing confessions and the subsequent need to talk about anything else. ‘I will,’ he said. ‘Thanks.’

+

In the end, he decided to call Sherlock instead of texting. ‘Hey,’ he said, heart pounding.

‘John,’ Sherlock acknowledged, and the sound of his voice... god.

‘Can we talk?’

There was a pause, and then Sherlock said, ‘Yes. I believe we should.’

‘Okay. Meet at the park in an hour?’

Another pause. Then, ‘Yes.’

John felt peculiarly choked up. ‘Okay.’

‘See you soon.’

‘Alright.’

‘Goodbye.’

+

_I knew you were something special_

_When you spoke my name_

_Now I can't wait to see you again_

_The next time we hang out_

_I will redeem myself_

_My heart can rest till then_

_Now I can't wait to see you again..._

\--“See You Again” by Miley Cyrus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't judge me for the song choice. I needed something about seeing someone again.
> 
> Comments and kudos always appreciated :) and if you like this fic, please do spread the word to any friends who might enjoy it as well!
> 
> Another note that probably doesn't matter to you: I've been considering going back and giving this fic somewhat of a makeover, just so I can have an entire story that's consistent and not broken up into sections because it's been over a year since I began writing this. Anyway, food for thought. I might do that at some point, but after this is over I need to go resume some of my other discontinued fics. I've really been seeking closure lately.
> 
> ETA 2017: My AO3 has been a mess in general with too many unfinished works and series, but the good news is I've set my sights back on the Johnlock world and intend to finish (eventually) every Johnlock fic I've left incomplete.


	14. wherever you will go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock was staring at him. Then he blinked twice, three times, and coughed. ‘That was...’
> 
> ‘Awful, I know,’ John said.
> 
> ‘Excellent. Your grammar was atrocious, but the content was... I fear I may not be able to express myself to the degree that you did.’
> 
> John nodded. ‘I think I can live with that. Go for it.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's not like this is from 2014...
> 
> I'm back, and determined to finish this. Comment if you're an old reader because I'm very curious if anyone who was reading my stuff then, is still reading it.
> 
> I'm doing like, way too many fics at the moment, so I can't guarantee speedy updates, but I do promise I will finish this once and for all, since I still have my plot! I'm also going back and cleaning up the language a bit so I can make this G rated again :)

It had only been a week, and yet somehow felt like a month had passed. John suspected that neither of them had realized exactly how embedded in one another’s lives they were; though not speaking for a few days was hardly noticeable with casual acquaintances, it was slow torture when it came to Sherlock. He missed hanging out, he missed the late night conversations, he missed the acerbic remarks and the smiles meant just for him.

John arrived first and sat down on the bench, waiting anxiously. When Sherlock came into view both of them froze. ‘Hi,’ John said.

Sherlock said nothing, but sat down and folded his hands in his lap.

‘Long time no talk,’ John said feebly. ‘How have you -’

‘Are you cold?’ Sherlock blurted out.

‘Sorry, what?’

‘You look cold. You should really dress more warmly. That dreadful oatmeal jumper is far too worn to be any use at all.’

He was right, the prat. John felt the achingly familiar fond irritation set in. ‘Since when have you cared about my clothing?’ he asked indignantly.

‘I’ve always cared.’

‘No you haven’t.’

‘Yes I have.’

This was absurd and so beside the point. ‘I’m okay.’

‘My scarf...’

‘I don’t want your scarf, thanks. We’re supposed to be talking, not bickering about winter clothes.’

‘Very well. I am... unsure as to how to begin this conversation.’

‘D’you want me to go first?’

‘By all means.’ Sherlock was fidgeting, and John had half a mind to reach over and stop him, place a hand on his leg or take his hand, but touching his best friend seemed to be risky business at this point so he clamped down on the urge.

‘Right.’ Looking Sherlock in the eye was almost painful. However, the alternative was staring at a homeless man sleeping under a tree several meters away, so John forced himself to make eye contact. ‘I’m... I have to apologise, first. Because. Well. I shouldn’t have... I didn’t like Mary, or fancy her, or anything. But I didn’t - you’ve got to understand that I didn’t know how you felt. I still don’t really know, except what people have been telling me. And I kinda felt like we weren’t going anywhere, y’know, like any kind of relationship wouldn’t work out. Not because of you or because we didn’t like each other or... but because I don’t know, like I said before, I didn’t know how you felt.

‘Mary was nice and I was kind of pushed into the whole duet thing and if I’d hated her I wouldn’t’ve done it but I don’t hate her enough not to. And if I hadn’t done it then that just would’ve been for me, not for you, or because of you.’ He hoped Sherlock was tracking this because he sure as hell wasn’t. ‘Not that I wouldn’t do things for you,’ he added hastily. ‘I just mean that our friendship, relationship, whatever, was totally independent of my choice to hang out with Mary. And for the record, me and her aren’t really dating. I mean, we’ve gone out like twice, but that’s it. So it’s not a huge deal. You know?’

Sherlock’s expression was inscrutable. He barely seemed to be breathing at all, in fact, and John did not know what to think. In his panic he decided to stare at the homeless man, who was now stirring slightly and gave an audible cough.

‘Anyway, I’m sorry I was an idiot about all of this. I should’ve said something. I think I was just, you know. Scared, more than I’ve been with other people before, because you... meant. More than the others did. I had more to lose.’ _Everything to lose._ ‘’Cause you’re my best friend, and.’ _I love you._ ‘Thanks, you know. For everything. You’ve been - I’ve been stupid, and you have every right to be mad at me.’ He sucked in a deep breath.

Sherlock was staring at him. Then he blinked twice, three times, and coughed. ‘That was...’

‘Awful, I know,’ John said.

‘Excellent. Your grammar was atrocious, but the content was... I fear I may not be able to express myself to the degree that you did.’

John nodded. ‘I think I can live with that. Go for it.’

‘Alright. Allow me to preface this with the statement that I do fancy you, or however you would like to phrase it. My feelings for you are of a... romantic and intimate nature. I cannot pinpoint when exactly they changed - and my attempts to understand are futile - but rest assured, I have felt this way for some time.

‘After a great deal of thought and, ah... boisterous encouragement from Irene, I realise my fatal miscalculation. Which is that I never told you how I felt, not properly. I made assumptions based on my feelings without taking into account the fact that you had no way of knowing. Though you could presume from my behaviour that I was - am - wholly devoted to you, it was unfair to place you within the confines of a nonexistent, or at least unestablished, committed relationship.’ He looked down at his hands nervously, then back up at John. ‘Is that... did I do it right?’

John beamed. ‘Absolutely,’ he said. ‘Exactly right.’

‘Good.’ There was silence for a moment as they both collected their thoughts; then John spoke up,

‘So what d’you wanna do about it, then?’

‘Well. We could “make it official,” much as I abhor the phrase.’ John chuckled at this, to which Sherlock offered a small smile before sobering. ‘I heard about Schofield,’ he said.

‘Oh. Yeah, that. It’s okay. I mean, it’s not the end of the world.’

‘You have to do the duet with Mary,’ Sherlock said quietly.

‘I don’t want to. I’d rather do it with you. I’m not very good, anyway,’ he added offhandedly.

‘Yes, but you both want the chorus program to continue. Much as you hate to admit it, you legitimately enjoy singing, and are far more talented than you give yourself credit for.’

‘Um, thanks? But I just... are you sure?’

Sherlock pushed himself off the bench and spun around, turning his back to John as he began to pace. ‘It’s the only logical solution,’ he explained. ‘Abandon Mary, you’ll lose face and look commitment-phobic, both in a relationship and professional sense. Not to mention the fact that the entire concert is dependent upon this heteronormative duet. It was a poor judgment call to assign the song in the first place, but you must admit, crowd-friendliness is paramount if the chorus is going to sustain its popularity, membership, and funding.’

‘But I want to do it with _you_ ,’ John protested, realising too late that he sounded like a petulant child.

Sherlock paused in his pacing and quirked the corner of his lip. ‘I know,’ he said after a pause, and his face softened as he came to sit down next to John. ‘It just... the timing isn’t right.’

‘Sorry, what?’

‘Everything, the -’ Sherlock gestured vaguely. ‘Perhaps we ought to wait until this chaos is over.’

‘I like chaos,’ John argued, though he was following Sherlock’s logic. Between stress over the show and Mary’s delicate feelings and his impending exams, it was true that now was not the ideal time to pursue a relationship.

‘John,’ Sherlock said quietly. ‘Please do not take my rational approach for lack of sentiment. I...’ He hesitated, averting his eyes, then licked his lips quickly and said, ‘ _Care_ , about you. More than...’ Head shake. Despite the seriousness of the situation at hand, John couldn’t stop smiling. ‘At any rate. I’ve a tendency to bluster through life without a care in the world and as a result I believe I have something of a destructive streak. This is one thing which I am determined not to ruin.’

‘You won’t ruin us. You can’t. We’re too, like, strong. I dunno.’

Sherlock arched an eyebrow. ‘“We’re too, like, strong. I dunno,”’ he repeated. ‘John, even for you, that is an abysmally phrased statement.’

‘Hey, shut up,’ John shot back. ‘You’re not the only one who’s unaccustomed to this.’

‘I thought you were a romantic.’

‘Yeah, but for some reason that’s proving to be a lot easier when I’m not as attached to the person.’

Sherlock opened and closed his mouth, looking flummoxed. ‘Attached?’

John rolled his eyes so far back into his head that he saw sparks. ‘Oh my god, if we have to go through this again...’

‘Shut up,’ Sherlock snapped, though his expression belied fondness over irritation. John’s heart skipped a beat. If anybody had told him three months ago that Sherlock Holmes would be looking at him fondly, he would have called them a lunatic and stalked off.

‘So... we’ll put this on hold, then,’ he said.

Sherlock nodded slowly. ‘That would appear to be the only logical option.’

‘We can still hang out, right?’

‘Of course. Why would you ask?’

‘Just making sure.’

Sherlock scooted over in the seat so that his shoulder was pressed against John’s. ‘You needn’t ask.’

‘Well, you can’t tell me what to do, can you,’ John said, grinning. He stood and patted Sherlock’s knee, offering a hand to help him up; after appearing very confused, Sherlock took it. Resisting the urge to just keep on holding hands until eternity, John cleared his throat and started towards his flat. ‘Let’s go.’

Sherlock frowned. ‘Where?’

‘Back to mine. I think Mike and Greg will be happy to see you.’

‘Good lord, was everybody involved in this?’

‘Pretty much, yeah. They care about you, y’know.’

‘Me?’

‘Oi, heads up,’ said John, ‘you’re about to walk into a tree.’

‘Sorry,’ Sherlock said distractedly, rerouting. _‘Me?’_

‘Is it that hard to believe?’

‘I -’

 _‘Tree,_ Sherlock,’ John said, and steered him out of harm’s way. ‘Do you not look where you’re going, or...?’

‘I’m looking at _you,’_ Sherlock said, in that _isn’t it obvious_ way that made John feel absolutely brilliant.

‘Alright, weirdo. And yes, they care about you. Or at least they care about me, which means that by extension they care about you.’

They reached the threshold of John’s flat. Sherlock seemed to be processing this very slowly, and John tried not to roll his eyes again.

‘You’re an idiot,’ he said. ‘Come on.’ He pushed the door open and groaned.

Greg, Mike, and Molly were all sitting expectantly at the kitchen table.

‘How long have you been waiting?’ he asked, not wanting to know the answer.

‘SHERLOCK!’ shouted Greg, and jumped to his feet. He lunged at Sherlock and pumped his hand enthusiastically. ‘So glad you’re back, mate.’

‘Are you...?’ Mike asked, cutting right to the chase. ‘You know.’ He made a very inappropriate gesture with his hands that left John no choice but to turn red and hit Mike on the shoulder. ‘Ow!’

‘No, we’re - I’ll talk to you about it later. Sherlock and I are -’

‘Ooooooooh,’ Mike and Greg said simultaneously.

‘I apologise for my boyfriend’s behaviour,’ Molly said, getting to her feet and reaching out to give Sherlock a hug. ‘Welcome back.’

‘I’ve been gone a week,’ Sherlock said blankly.

‘Yeah, but that’s after you practically lived with us for three months,’ Greg pointed out. ‘We missed you.’

‘Me? I -’

‘We aren’t going over this again.’ John yanked Sherlock towards the living room. ‘We’ve got Antique Roadshow to catch up on.’

‘Lord help me,’ Sherlock muttered, but couldn’t help the smile that was spreading across his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos appreciated; let's get this show back on the road.
> 
> I'll clean up the formatting eventually (I'm kind of dropping the song thing right now), but at the moment I'm just concerned with keeping chapters coming.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After they finished their meal, John took a deep breath. When he looked up at Mary, there was hardly anything to be said.
> 
> ‘It’s not going to happen, is it?’
> 
> He shook his head ruefully. ‘I’m sorry.’
> 
> ‘Oh, John.’ She smiled sadly at him. ‘I always did like you.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've changed it to unknown chapters because I've decided to stretch out the plot a bit more!

‘So... that was it?’ Irene looked severely disappointed.

‘Would you prefer I leave?’ Sherlock asked, eyeing a half-naked Janine stretched out on the couch.

‘What? Oh, no. Am I making you uncomfortable?’

Ever so slightly. ‘No.’

Irene’s eyes trailed over Janine’s form.

‘Irene,’ Sherlock said loudly.

‘Sorry, am I distracting you?’ Janine asked, throwing her girlfriend a coquettish glance.

Irene swallowed. ‘I -’

‘Oh, for god’s sake.’ Sherlock stood up and blocked Janine from his friend’s view. ‘Janine, kindly remove yourself from the living room.’

‘Fine,’ said Janine, and retreated to the bedroom, winking at Irene before shutting the door.

‘My god,’ Sherlock muttered under his breath.

‘Sorry, sorry.’ Irene cleared her throat and composed herself. ‘So the consensus is...?’

‘We are not going to enter into a relationship until after the concert.’

Irene looked nonplussed, which was saying something. ‘And you’re okay with that?’

Sherlock hesitated. ‘Well, yes. I may not like it, but I understand the necessity. I... no longer question John’s commitment. We have mutually agreed that we care about each other, and this is sufficient for me. We will continue to...’

‘Be in denial?’ suggested Irene.

‘...be friends,’ Sherlock said firmly. ‘The fact of the matter is that I am... there, for him, unconditionally. I will go wherever he goes, and he will do the same for me. Neither of us feel that it is particularly pressing.’

‘Why?’

‘I’ve already told you.’

‘No, why are you being so damn mature about this?’ Irene gave a disbelieving laugh. ‘I mean, Sherlock. This is - you’re acting like a mature, forward-thinking person and I -’ She shook her head in bemusement.

Sherlock gave a small smile. ‘I know.’

‘Do you honestly think you can do it?’

‘I have no option.’

‘But -’

‘Is that not love? Surrendering your own desires for the sake of the person who truly matters to you?’

‘But John doesn’t care about the concert.’

‘Perhaps, but Joe Schofield does, as do many others.’

‘Don’t tell me you care about them now.’

‘There are other reasons. John still has to truncate his relationship with Mary, and he has several impending exams that require his concentration.’

‘I...’

Sherlock’s phone trilled. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, and walked out of the room to take John’s call, leaving a gaping Irene in his wake.

Janine came out of the bedroom a moment later. ‘What’s up?’ she asked, registering Irene’s expression.

‘Sherlock Holmes has become a kind and considerate person,’ Irene murmured.

_ ‘What?’ _

‘It doesn’t make sense to me either. They’ve _ apparently  _ decided that they won’t enter into a relationship until after the concert.’

Janine gaped. ‘Do you think they’ll be able to handle that?’

‘What, the waiting?’

‘Yeah. I mean, all I know is that if I found out that you had feelings for me but then couldn’t be with you immediately, even if it was a mutual agreement... I dunno, it might drive me insane.’

‘Well, luckily we don’t have to worry about that,’ said Irene, coming to sit beside Janine and slipping an arm around her waist.

Janine smiled and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Seriously though. I’d just keep an eye out for Sherlock, if I were you. That’s all.’

‘I will,’ said Irene, playing back every disastrous social situation Sherlock had ever gotten himself into and sighing. Though he had evidently undergone some miraculous transformation, there was only so much a person could change in a short period of time, and his mismanagement of his relationship with John until recently did not bode well for the coming days. ‘I most certainly will.’

+

‘Wait, so you aren’t dating?’ Greg asked.

‘Not yet, no.’

Greg gaped at John. ‘Are you taking the piss?’

‘No. We decided to wait.’

‘Are you - you’re -’ Greg sputtered. ‘John and Sherlock aren’t dating,’ he informed Mike as he entered the room.

Mike promptly hit John over the head with Greg’s calculator.

‘Oi!’ John wrestled the calculator from Mike’s grip and retaliated.

Greg seized it from the both of them, holding it in the air and then sitting on it. ‘Gentlemen, gentlemen. Shall we be mature about this.’ He paused, then grabbed a pillow and hit John in the face with it.

‘You -’ John lunged, but it was two against one and he found himself pinned against the back of the couch. ‘Can you  _ listen  _ to me?’ he shouted, shoving Mike off of him.

‘He’s right. Let’s be serious now, Gregory,’ said Mike sternly.

Greg gave a long-suffering sigh and wrapped his arms around the pillow, resting his chin on the top and looking at John expectantly. ‘Fine. I’m listening. Let’s hear the effed up logic that -’

‘I want to be happy,’ John said loudly. Both men froze.

‘Whaddya mean?’ said Mike.

‘I mean, you two bitch about how I’m not happy, but this is - Sherlock is - my chance at happiness. But I can’t... I don’t want to mess it up. I don’t want to lose it or even _risk_ losing it. We can’t force it, we have to wait.’

Greg appeared flummoxed. ‘But this is  _ Sherlock. _ He made you laugh and you’re happy and -’

‘I  _ know,  _ but if we do this now, with the whole thing with Mary going on and the - my tests and essays and everything, I don’t think... I just. I want to be happy.’

Mike exchanged looks with Greg and then clapped John on the shoulder. ‘Alright, mate. If that’s what’ll make you happy. We’ll back you, one hundred percent.’

‘Thank you. You two are the worst, by the way.’

‘John,’ said Greg seriously, placing his hands on John’s shoulders, ‘you have no idea how much that means to us.’ And as annoying as his flatmates could be, John couldn’t help but smile.

+

John scheduled a 6:30 dinner date with Mary that evening. Though he was relatively certain she didn’t think they were going anywhere in a hurry, he reckoned it was only the decent thing to do. This way, if things were going to be uncomfortable between them, they could clear the air before the concert - and, as Sherlock would sternly remind him, his exams. Not that Sherlock studied, or even went to classes when he didn’t feel like it. But John’s academic success, as well as pretty much everything to do with him, was proving to be an obnoxiously high priority for Sherlock, and in the end he didn’t have the heart to resist.

John had decided to go all out, probably because Greg’s “YOLO” attitude was having a destructive influence on him. The restaurant was fancier than he was used to; he wrestled with a tie for half an hour and ended up having to ask Sherlock to come over and fix it for him (although truth be told he mostly just wanted to see Sherlock).

Mary looked very nice as John pulled out the chair for her and she took a seat. She was wearing a purple V neck dress and some sort of lipstick, John noted with pride, as he so rarely gave heed to anything about women’s fashion.

He decided to break the news after the meal, and instead focused on enjoying his time with Mary as a friend. She had improved by leaps and bounds in the conversation department recently, making her a legitimately pleasant person to be around – perhaps only in a more intimate, one-on-one setting – fakeness and social drama notwithstanding. And at the end of the day, their voices did go well together, so he fervently hoped there would be no bad blood.

After they finished their meal, John took a deep breath. When he looked up at Mary, there was hardly anything to be said.

‘It’s not going to happen, is it?’

He shook his head ruefully. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Oh, John.’ She smiled sadly at him. ‘I always did like you.’

‘Thanks?’ he said, with a little awkward laugh. ‘Listen, I do like you as a -’

‘Please let’s not do this.’ Mary gazed at him earnestly. ‘Honestly, I understand.’

‘But we’ll be friends?’

‘Of course. We still have to sing the duet and save Scruffy’s job, don’t we?’

John nodded and gave half a grin and quiet chuckle. ‘Yeah.’

The check came; John paid despite Mary's protests. He helped her out of her chair and into her jacket, still feeling remarkably guilty. It didn’t make sense to split a cab, seeing as Greg was driving by the restaurant on his way back from Molly’s and could easily pick John up. Luckily for John, who did not like awkward situations, Mary’s flat was the other direction, and she politely declined his obligatory offer to give her a ride as well. Unfortunately, given that they were relying on rides, t hey had to sit outside together for a few minutes while waiting. 

The silence between them was less uncomfortable than it could have been, and after silently watching several cars go by, spraying slush onto the pavement, Mary spoke up.  ‘Can I ask who it is?’

Oh god. Here was the moment. If John's memory served right, Mary had never been outwardly homophobic, but one never knew. Not to mention the risk involved if people did find out about him and Sherlock before anything was even made official. That said, he trusted Mary - after all, her reputation was on the line as well; if people found out she’d been rejected by John for someone the likes of Sherlock, she’d face ridicule beyond belief.

‘John?’

John realised he’d been immobile for the past several seconds. ‘Er...’

‘You don’t have to tell me,” Mary said, but there was no hiding the look of hurt on her face.

Well, shit. ‘No, it’s only that I... I’m... I’m really sorry.’ Well,  _ that _ wasn’t what he’d meant to say.

‘Okay?’ Mary replied.

John groaned and rubbed his hands over his face.  _ Get it together.  _ ‘I, um. It’s... nothing is official, yet. What with the concert, and all.’ He was babbling and hemming and hawing and Mary deserved better. Taking a deep breath, he blurted out, ‘SherlockandIarekindofathing.’

Her eyebrows shot into her hairline. _‘What?’_

‘It’s - it isn’t - it isn’t. Not.’ Wow, he was great at this talking thing.

‘No, it’s alright,’ Mary said hurriedly. John couldn’t tell if this was said in a “quick I don’t want to look homophobic” way or an “I’m genuinely shocked and trying to keep it together” one. Either way, this was not exactly the situation he ever wanted to find himself in.

But being with Sherlock Holmes was never going to be easy.

‘Well... that’s my ride,’ Mary said with nearly palpable relief. It was mutual. John rather wanted to give the driver (a bloke he recognized from campus - David, was it?) a massive hug, in fact. ‘Thanks for dinner.’

‘You’re welcome,’ John returned. He stood up for some godforsaken reason, as though he was going to give her a hug goodbye. ‘I’m very sorry it didn’t work out.’ Wow, he really needed to stop talking.

Mary shook her head, looking alarmed. ‘No, please... don’t worry. It’s alright.’

John licked his lips nervously. ‘Right. Good, yeah. So. I’ll see you around. We’re still, erm... doing the duet, right?’ They'd already discussed this, hadn't they.

Mary dipped her head in a small nod. ‘Of course.’

‘Of course,’ John echoed. Mary cast him one last sidelong glance, then stepped off the kerb and into the waiting car. 

+

‘Well,’ John said when Sherlock came over, ‘that sucked.’ He buried his head in his anatomy textbook. ‘God, it was awkward.’

‘You? Awkward? Stop the presses,’ Sherlock returned with the hint of a smile. He was sitting on John’s bed, flipping idly through an old _National Geographic_ issue, while John sat at his desk slowly dying. All the colors and miniscule text on the pages were beginning to run together. It didn't help that he'd been viciously highlighting the shit out of it and not much else for the past three days.

John raised his head from the abused textbook bleakly, then slammed it shut and leaned back. ‘Ah, well. At least she can go off and do whatever she wants, now that she knows. I don't think she was ever really into me.’

‘How could she not be?’

John shrugged. ‘I dunno, I'm a bit short.’

Sherlock came and sat next to him in his chair, thigh to thigh, and rested his arm across John’s shoulders. ‘I think I can cope.’

‘This seat is only meant for one person, Sherlock.’

‘Well, your bed is meant for two,’ Sherlock replied absentmindedly. John wasn't sure he even realized the implication he’d just made, but then again how else could such a comment have been intended? This weird relationship abstinence business was practical and Mature, but was most certainly pushing the limitations of John's self-restraint.

‘We’re still not dating, right?’ he clarified.

Sherlock smoothly unfolded from the chair, pushing binders and flash cards to the side and perching on the edge of the desk. ‘I suppose not.’

‘I told Mary that we’re a thing.’

Sherlock looked at John scornfully, but without jealousy or resentment. ‘Ever the descriptive one.’

‘Hey,’ John protested, grinning. ‘I wasn't about to write a novel about my feelings for you.’

‘You could,’ Sherlock suggested. ‘I would gladly read it, abysmal grammar aside.’

‘You're ridiculous,’ sighed John. 

Sherlock leaned forward and, unexpectedly, pecked John lightly on the cheek. ‘So you've said.’ Then he hopped off the desk and reached for his scarf. ‘You clearly have no intention of studying, but even _I_ know that you need sleep. Gavin chewed me out quite spectacularly last time I kept you up past midnight.’

‘He babysits me,’ John said dismissively. ‘Him and Mike...’

‘They care about you,’ Sherlock corrected him. ‘Two different concepts.’

‘Yeah, well, I don't need my flatmates telling everyone else when my bedtime is, thanks,’ John said snarkily. He got to his feet with a groan. ‘I'll see you out.’

‘How very romantic of you,’ Sherlock commented. 

‘What can I say, I'm a real smooth guy like that. Mr. Suave.’

They both fell silent as Sherlock slipped into his coat by the door. Mike was asleep, having gone for a 5-minute run earlier (he claimed he was doing intervals, but John was pretty sure that his other jogging “intervals” involved doughnuts and _Family Guy)._  Greg was at Molly's for probably the foreseeable future. As a result, the flat was quiet, lit only by a small flickering faux lantern by the doorway that cast a warm golden glow across Sherlock's (very attractive) features. John was hit by a sudden overwhelming wave of  _ this is where I belong.  _

‘Text me when you get home?’ he asked Sherlock. 

Sherlock smiled. ‘I will certainly do my utmost not to get murdered. I’d hate to cast a pall over your final exams.’

‘Yeah, yeah, whatever,’ John grinned. Then, after a split second hesitation, he rose on tiptoes and kissed Sherlock on the cheek, lips against stubble and  _ cheekbones _ that flushed in response to the small, innocuous show of affection. ‘Night, Sherlock,’ John said softly. 

Sherlock raised a hand to touch the spot where John had kissed him. ‘Goodnight,’ he responded, and, ducking his head like an idiot schoolboy with a big fat crush, shut the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm committing to weekly updates from now on, I swear! I'm working on four different active fics at the moment, so I've been super swamped what with work and scholarship essays as well, but I swear I will do it!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock Holmes was somewhat of an enigma. He used to be the tall, dark, handsome, silent, very very fit, oddly magnetic stranger across the room. When they became friends, John didn’t always trust that Sherlock might be emotionally capable enough to express his own feelings, even if they were there (not that John was too adept at it himself). Now, a gaping metre away from him on the bed, it occurred to John that Sherlock didn’t drop everything and sit with someone if he didn’t care about them. He was an unstoppable force: always running amok, always solving a crime or criticising people, always dashing in and out of rooms and shouting things. He could have used “space” as a perfectly viable excuse - after all, that’s what John claimed he wanted.
> 
> Sherlock did none of those things. He had clearly mustered up his courage and knocked on John’s door because he was determined never to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t intend for the angst to happen, but it did. Just a nice added layer of torment for our poor shipper hearts.

To her credit, Mary didn’t tell anyone. She kept John at arm’s length save for a few uncomfortable rehearsals, which was perfectly fine by Sherlock, who was still quite suspicious that she could possibly  _ not _ have feelings for John Watson. John was vaguely distressed about the tension between them, but they  _ were _ adults and finals were creeping up on him and - despite him and Greg and Mike’s tendency to prioritize drama and bickering over school - he really did want to do well.

Sherlock was a perfect gentleman in the coming weeks. He all but quarantined John in the library, and it was only because it was Sherlock that John didn’t get up and defiantly storm off. Sherlock would routinely show up after class, take John by the hand (which was very persuasive in and of itself), sweep into the library and find John’s favorite carrel, then deposit his books on the table with a packed lunch (‘I’m not in primary school, and you’re not my mum,’ John protested, to which Sherlock sighed and said, ‘Yes, but I  _ care _ about you,’ very earnestly). With a delicate kiss on the cheek and promise to be back in a few hours once he had checked on the fractured hyoid or toenails or finished ignoring yet another tirade from Dr. Donovan, he was gone.

Shaking his head, John ended up being a lot more productive than he would’ve been at the flat.

+

Harry decided it would be a brilliant idea to show up two days before John’s first exam. ‘Well, shit,’ John groaned when the doorbell rang and he saw who it was. 

Sherlock, who had been sitting on John’s bed typing furiously while John suffered over maths, hopped to his feet promptly and made for the door.

‘Please be civil,’ John requested.

‘Keep studying, John, you really ought to have mastered differential equations by now, and that’s the extensor  _ digitorum  _ longus muscle, not the extensor  _ hallucis,’  _ Sherlock replied somewhat unhelpfully given the situation.

John shut his textbook and trotted after Sherlock anyway.

‘Can I help you?’ Sherlock said coolly when he opened the door to reveal Harry. She looked far worse for wear than the last time John saw her; the bags under her eyes were much more pronounced and her colour wasn’t too good either.

‘I’m here to see John,’ she said with surprising clarity considering how much she reeked of alcohol.

‘John is busy,’ Sherlock informed her primly. ‘Good-bye.’

‘Wait!’ she cried. John stopped Sherlock from shutting the door. Something in her tone compelled him to push past Sherlock and face his sister.

‘Harry,’ he said. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I... need you,’ she said in a daze. She was swaying on the doorstep. 

‘What’ve you done?’ John asked tightly.

‘Is... is all... you’re...’ she began to slur incoherently. Oh god. It dawned on John very quickly that she must not be under the influence of alcohol alone, and bloody  _ hell  _ this was inconvenient. Sherlock came to the same realisation (was no doubt beating himself up for having not realised immediately) and tensed beside John. 

‘Let’s get you inside,’ John said steadily, because Harry appeared ready to collapse. As soon as he dragged her over the threshold, she did. ‘Oh, bugger,’ he muttered, swearing under his breath, ‘let’s get her on the couch, I’ll call 999. Probably not an overdose, but she’s fading.’

‘She hasn’t eaten in five days, either,’ Sherlock observed. ‘You know, the bruises on her forearms just here match up with the ones on the murder victim from last week’s decapitation. Intriguing.’

‘No, not intriguing,’ John snapped. He rang 999 and explained the situation to the operator, guessing Harry was on some sort of opioid given her sluggish behavior. Respiratory depression was his primary concern at this point; the fact that she was so weak certainly wasn’t going to help her body cope with the substance(s) any better.

What had  _ happened?  _ She was doing better, she was in rehab. No-one had heard from her, but that was common during her better phases - no news is good news, as they say. 

Either way, she was here now, instead of in hospital, and John should be angry. Instead, he was hurt and confused: Where had things gone wrong? As he squatted down next to his sister on the sofa, he couldn't help flashing back to the years before she fell prey to drinking and drugs

+

_ ‘Come on, John,’ six-year-old Harry said, frolicking down the beach, a light blue sarong trailing behind her like a cape. John, just turned 11, rolled his eyes at his little sister but followed her dutifully. He was a bit too cool for this and if the 13-year-old boys from down the road caught him building sand castles with his kid sister he was dead. But Harry was all messy dirty blonde hair and sandy feet and earnest blue eyes that hadn't changed since John held her for the first time. So he caught up to her and didn't shake her off when she took his hand.  _

_ ‘Benny died,’ she said forlornly. Her rabbit had been old, with multiple health issues.  _

_ ‘I'm sorry, Hare,’ John said.  _

_ ‘Can we swim?’ she asked anxiously. She was wearing a new watermelon bathing suit from Goodwill and a comically mismatching camouflage bucket hat John dug out of the closet. They were alone this week; he did his best with her. _

_ ‘Sure,’ he agreed, taking off his shirt and dropping it by the sand.  _

_ Harry did the same with her sarong and adjusted her hat. ‘Can I take it off?’ _

_ John shook his head. ‘You'll get sunburnt.’ _

_ ‘It gets in my way,’ his sister complained.  _

_ ‘No,’ he said firmly, then ran at her, grabbing her by the waist and plunging them both into the frigid water. Harry giggled and struggled against him, bright and young and unmarred by life. _

_ They splashed around, laughing, and when a large wave came towards them Harry looked at John, panicked.  _

_ ‘Don't worry,’ he reassured her. ‘I know how to swim, I won't let you go.’ _

_ They built sand castles later, after consuming slightly sandy peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Her castle looked way better than John's, which only slightly bothered him.  _

_ At the end of the day, they went back to their small rickety beach house and he made grilled cheeses for dinner. Harry chattered away about the fairy house she wanted to make tomorrow. John let her watch the flickering, ancient 19-inch telly while he tidied up a bit. At eight o'clock, he forced her to brush her teeth, then read her three stories. _

_ ‘I love you, Johnny,’ Harry said from under the covers. _

_ ‘Love you too,’ he replied. _

_ She grinned. ‘We’ll go back tomorrow, won’t we?’ _

_ ‘Yeah, ‘course we will. Go to bed now.’ _

_ ‘John?’ _

_ ‘Yeah?’ _

_ ‘I don’t ever want things to change.’ _

_ John thought about the burdens he already bore, now that he was 11. That he bore when he was 9, even. ‘Me neither,’ he concurred, and sat with her in her room until she fell asleep. _

_ + _

‘What happened?’ John implored his sister now.

Harry’s eyelids were drooping, and when they flickered open briefly her pupils were tiny. She could be six years old again and fighting against bedtime. Maybe it  _ was _ an overdose.

‘If I have to perform CPR, I'll kill you,’ John said through gritted teeth. 

‘...where’m I?’ Harry mumbled, chest rising and falling shallowly. 

The sound of sirens came within earshot. ‘This sucks,’ John commented, his voice cracking. Harry was lost and confused in this horrific state. Every parent’s worst nightmare.

The door swung open and uniforms filled the room. John heaved a sigh of relief. He briefed the paramedics, offering disjointed suggestions that he knew would fall on deaf ears, and stumbled when he stood. But surprisingly strong, wiry arms caught him, and he turned around to face Sherlock.

‘I am sorry,’ Sherlock said. He looked pained. 

‘Sorry for what?’

Sherlock only shook his head. Then John, too exhausted to deal, buried his face in Sherlock's chest, hands coming up to cling to his too-baggy shirt. 

‘You smell good,’ he muttered.

‘Your sister has overdosed, John. Now is hardly the time,’ Sherlock said, but John could hear the smile in his voice.

‘God, what am I going to do?’

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, one hand cradling the back of his head gently, and said nothing.

‘Yeah, that’s what I thought,’ John piped up sarcastically. He pulled away from Sherlock enough to blearily watch the paramedics take Harry’s vitals and administer Narcan. She wasn’t in as bad shape as John knew she could have been. Hopefully not a fatal dose, then, but it was certainly off to hospital in a blaring ambulance for her.  Harry was an adult now, just turned 18. There was no obligation to call her parents - she was all alone, the only relative who might not have given up on her yet standing in the same room. It was too much, too painful, and John  _ did not want to deal.  _ Sherlock loosened his embrace but slid his fingers between John’s. 

The paramedics asked if John would come.

Feeling sick to his stomach, he said no.

+

‘Holy buggering shit!’ Greg shouted. ‘John?’ He’d arrived home just as the ambulance left and nearly tripped over the threshold when he came speeding in to see what on earth had happened.

‘Harry showed up,’ John explained shakily. ‘She overdosed, or she took something, I dunno, and she came here.’

Greg gaped. ‘And you didn’t go with her?’

‘Enough, Gregory,’ Sherlock said sharply, standing in front of John.

‘Whoa there,’ Greg said defensively, raising his hands in surrender. ‘Sorry I said anything.’ He gripped his flatmate by the shoulder. ‘You okay, mate?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, fine.’

Greg studied John for a moment. ‘No, you’re not,’ was his astute conclusion.

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but John, squeezing his hand before letting go, halted him. ‘I’d better get back to studying.’

Sherlock and Greg exchanged looks. Since when were  _ they _ buddy-buddy? Christ, if people didn’t stop joining the “concerned about John” club, John was seriously going to lose it.

‘Brilliant,’ he snapped when neither idiot responded, and stomped off to his room.

+

‘I should have protected him,’ Sherlock said hardly.

‘Yeah, you really should’ve,’ Greg replied stormily.

‘I answered the door, I...’

‘Well, now here we are, Harry’s god knows where’ - ‘Hospital,’ Sherlock supplied - ‘and John’s in there trying to cope with everything on his own, because he has to be bloody  _ strong _ all the time,’ Greg said, stabbing a finger in the direction of John’s room. ‘Job well done, Sherlock. Really.’

‘I...’

Mike came running into the room and skidded to a stop, panting. ‘Crikey, what happened? I got your text.’

‘I’m sure Sherlock can fill you in,’ Greg said darkly.

‘I...’ Sherlock’s breathing was coming fast and hard, panic unfurling beneath his ribcage, because this was the truest test of his devotion to John and he was terrified of ruining it. That John might not trust him, that he might screw it all up splendidly, as he was wont to do. He didn’t much care about these things, until John. He didn’t much care about  _ anything,  _ for that matter. John changed everything. ‘It...’

‘Hey, you good?’ Mike asked in concern, patting Sherlock clumsily on the shoulder.

‘Yeah, he’s good - look at him, he looks totally chuffed to be sitting here while his boyfriend’s having a mental breakdown and Harry Watson’s on her deathbed,’ Greg said harshly. Sherlock really couldn’t tell if he was on his side or not.

Probably not.

‘Not technically on her deathbed,’ Sherlock corrected Greg automatically. Greg uttered a noise of outrage and disdain. 

‘Right, okay,’ Mike interrupted, wheels visibly turning in his head as he tried to register what was going on. ‘Well, Harry’s taken care of. You think John’s gonna go see her later?’

‘It does not matter now,’ Sherlock put in. ‘We have to... help.’

‘Good luck with that!’ Mike said.

‘I don’t need you to tell me I am woefully ill-equipped to handle situations such as these,’ Sherlock snarled. ‘If you have brilliant ideas, by all means, enlighten me.’

‘You’re the boyfriend.’

‘No,’ Sherlock shook his head with clenched jaw, ‘I’m not.’ And with that he grabbed his jacket and left the flat.

+

‘Fine,’ John muttered to the blank ceiling above him. ‘Brilliant. Happy finals week.’

There was a tentative knock on the door.

‘Sod off!’ he called.

The door handle turned slowly. If it was Sherlock...

John didn’t need Sherlock. He didn’t need anyone. He didn’t  _ want _ anyone. No matter how weak at the knees Sherlock Holmes made him.

‘John,’ Sherlock said quietly. He stood in the doorway, a lanky silhouette. ‘I presume you would not like the light on,’ Sherlock added. It was dim in the room now, the sky having remained grey and stormy all day and the sun slowly beginning its descent into nothingness.

John squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. Then he dragged himself into a sitting position. ‘What d’you want?’

‘Whatever you do,’ Sherlock replied.

John hesitated, then patted the spot next to him. ‘C’mon.’

Sherlock faltered. ‘I don’t want to force myself -’

John rolled his eyes. ‘It’s not forcing if I’m asking you. You’re too tall, anyway.’

Sherlock joined John on the bed, sitting cross-legged with bony knees jutting out in an almost comical sight. ‘How are you doing, really?’ he asked so sincerely John couldn’t possibly snap back.

‘Rubbish,’ he admitted, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. ‘Totally rubbish.’

Sherlock paused; it was painfully apparent that he was trying desperately to do the right thing. He licked his lips nervously (even in his state, John couldn’t help thinking of several things the two of them could be doing instead, except now was hardly appropriate to leap across the bed and snog his not-quite-boyfriend), then straightened up a little and faced John directly. ‘What can I do to help?’

It was a good question. Nothing, at least right now, could really  _ help.  _ Not until he saw Harry - which he knew he had to do at some point - and got through finals. ‘I don’t know,’ John replied helplessly.

‘That is an incredibly unhelpful response,’ Sherlock said sternly.

‘I dunno,’ John shrugged, even as he couldn’t help but grin slightly because everything Sherlock said seemed to have that effect on him, ‘you’re the genius. You tell me.’

Sherlock visibly wracked his brains. ‘Could I interest you in a hug?’

He could interest John in any number of things, but a hug sounded wonderful. ‘Sure,’ John agreed. 

Seeing as they were sitting awkwardly on John’s bed, Sherlock didn’t seem to know how exactly to maneuver himself so as to hug John properly. He looked adorable and lost and John realised suddenly exactly how much Sherlock genuinely cared about him. It hit him so hard he paused momentarily.

Sherlock Holmes was somewhat of an enigma. He used to be the tall, dark, handsome, silent, very very fit, oddly magnetic stranger across the room. When they became friends, John didn’t always trust that Sherlock might be emotionally capable enough to express his own feelings, even if they were there (not that John was too adept at it himself). Now, a gaping metre away from him on the bed, it occurred to John that Sherlock didn’t drop everything and sit with someone if he didn’t care about them. He was an unstoppable force: always running amok, always solving a crime or criticising people, always dashing in and out of rooms and shouting things. He could have used “space” as a perfectly viable excuse - after all, that’s what John claimed he wanted.

Sherlock did none of those things. He had clearly mustered up his courage and knocked on John’s door because he was determined never to leave.

‘Oh, come off it,’ John scoffed, pretending he didn’t just have an embarrassingly emotional moment there. He reached over and turned on the light before scooting next to Sherlock - who of  _ course _ was at the  _ end _ of his bed - tugged him across the sheets so he was leaning properly against the pillows, and slipped under his arm. ‘Do I need to teach you how to cuddle?’

Sherlock blushed. He definitely blushed. And it was definitely adorable. His grip tightened, fingers gently curling around John's side, and rested his cheek lightly on John’s head. ‘I have no objections,’ he replied. 

John gazed up at him and stopped breathing briefly. Sherlock was honestly... beautiful. Greg and Mike would howl with laughter if they heard such descriptors falling from John’s mouth (and, come to that, probably make a lot of innuendos related to mouths), but John could be as gay as he wanted in his head, thank you very much. There was no other way to describe someone like Sherlock, anyway.

This was a grave situation, John reminded himself.  _ Harry. Think of Harry. Now is not the time. Finals. School. Don’t look at Sherlock’s face. Not. The. Time. _

‘Really? I reckon I’m too  _ dull _ to be any good at teaching,’ John replied lightly.

It didn’t help anything (or maybe it did) when Sherlock shifted so his lips brushed against John’s temple. ‘You are only  _ slightly _ dull, on occasion,’ Sherlock corrected him. ‘All things considered, the least dull person I have the good fortune of knowing.’

‘Well, that’s a resounding endorsement right there, I’ll be putting that one on my resume,’ John said gaily.

‘John!’ The door banged open. ‘Oh, shit, sorry,’ Mike said, skidding to a stop. ‘Didn't know Sherlock was here. Um... it’s your mum on the phone.’

Jesus Christ, what the hell could she want from him? 

‘Sorry, your mobile rang and I checked it,’ Mike babbled. 

‘It’s fine,’ John sighed, then realized his friend was looking at Sherlock, as though he was more concerned that Sherlock might be upset than John. ‘What?’ John asked, baffled. 

‘I’m not trying to stress him out -’ Mike started defensively. Sherlock rolled his eyes and stood up, gallantly offering John a hand to assist in the arduous task of getting off of his bed.

‘I can head home,’ Sherlock said quietly as they both stepped out of the bedroom. Mike scampered over to the couch and plopped himself down, appearing as though he was trying really hard to be casual. Greg, who had been there two seconds ago, scarpered when the two young men entered, muttering something about Not Being Involved. Good lord, had Sherlock instilled the fear of god in John’s flatmates? It was like they were worried he was going to assault them if they so much as slightly irked John.

‘No,’ John said firmly, picking up his mobile from the table. He slipped his fingers between Sherlock's to ground himself for whatever was to come. ‘Stay.’

And Sherlock did.

+

_ Run away with my heart _

_ Run away with my hope _

_ Run away with my love _

_ I know now, just quite how _

_ My life and love might still go on _

_ In your heart, in your mind _

_ I'll stay with you for all of time _

\--‘Wherever You Will Go’ by The Calling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, the UST. And the angst. All the feelings. Hope you enjoyed!


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